A Mother In Law's Love
by Perspicacity
Summary: Distraught over Ginny's death in the final battle, Harry gambles desperately and travels back in time to set things right. Unfortunately, not everything goes as planned. A twist on the classic Soul Bond tale.
1. Set the WayBack Machine for Stun

Disclaimer: Story based on characters and plot owned by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I wrote this for pleasure; no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

As always, many thanks to Alpha Fight Club for all their help. To the reader, enjoy.

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**A Mother-In-Law's Love**

by Perspicacity

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Chapter 1: Set the Way-Back Machine for Stun

I ghost to the Burrow. My Occlumency barriers at maximum, I've a grasp, however tenuous, on the matter at hand. Then I see her.

Before me is a sun goddess in a millieu of flame. Nude, lissome, proud, her shoulders back, her legs in a wide stance, she's an avatar of deadly beauty. Her lips part slightly and red hair, glittering golden in reflected firelight, rustles in the hot wind. She folds her arms beneath her breasts and clutches her wand in an overhand grip, the fashion of a half-century past. Its tip smolders, guilty wisps that betray her arson, and her skin is the pink of Summer's kiss, yet sooted by smoke's corruption.

"Harry, dear, please stop staring at my daughter's bum," Molly mutters as a hand clasps over my eyes.

"Sorry, Molly," I say.

"Ginny's a nice girl and you shouldn't be seeing her like this before you're married. She'll get a reputation..." I can tell that her heart isn't in her scolding. One of my companions wails loudly and I search out our Bond to share her feelings of loss. Sorrow rips at my soul.

I start to peel the fingers from my face as her daughter's nudity elicits the obvious reaction-again, I'm reminded how strong teen-aged hormones can be.

"Harry!" Molly exclaims, scandalized. That I'm only dressed in boxers doesn't conceal matters.

"Sorry."

"Potter!" the creature before me hisses as she turns to face me. A lesser man, one who hadn't defeated Voldemort several times, may have quailed at her malevolent stare.

"Busy morning, I see." I nod toward the roaring inferno, my wand trained on her.

"Indeed. Now I shall slay you and rebuild what you have stolen from me." I lament my cursed destiny, to be struck always with enemies lacking in conversation skills and, well, style.

"Are you alone in there?" I ask, stalling for time. I haven't a clue how I'm going to do this without hurting Ginny.

Ginny's features soften and her irises return to the warm, chocolate brown that stirs me heart. "I'm here too, Harry."

She smiles, her blush coloring more than just her face, and winks at me as Molly tuts. Across our Bond, I feel Ginny's embrace and a whisper in my mind pleads for me to defeat the usurper, no matter what the cost. I'm unsure I can obey.

Before I can subdue her, the malevolent spirit returns with a snarl and spits the incantation for a Killing Curse. A sputtering green bolt arcs toward me. I dodge, my Auror reflexes coming to the fore, and snap off a series of powerful stunners, fiery red bolts that crackle in the air. She slaps the first few away, but the fourth shatters her shield, forcing her to leap aside to avoid the next. The sudden motion gives me a fascinating practical lesson in inertia as Ginny whimpers in my mind over the pain she'll be feeling tomorrow.

Did I mention that I tend to get distracted by her brown eyes?

* * *

I suppose you're wondering how I found myself in such a situation. For the most part, it started a few months ago with the Order meeting the night after Albus's funeral, but I really should back up a bit earlier to when I'd made the trip from my former timeline that afternoon, my future self slamming into my body with a suddenness that... to be frank, it knocked me on my arse.

Anyway, I stood up and faced away from the dissipating crowd-the ceremony had just finished and Albus's mausoleum was burning, as before-and quickly cast a _Scourgify_ on my muddy robes.

Then it hit me. Circe's snailtracks, I'd done it! I'd gone back in time! Years of preparation and single-minded dedication, bankrupting of the Potter and Black fortunes in the process-it had all come to fruition. I was finding it hard to keep a straight face, despite the austerity of the occasion.

Don't get me wrong, I missed Albus-still do. It's just that I'd made my peace with his loss. What I really needed, besides a stiff drink, was to bring down Tom as fast as I could in this timeline. The sooner I fulfilled my destiny, the quicker I could get onto the things that matter, like reacquainting myself with Gin's erogenous zones.

"Great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid muttered, a mantra mostly for himself, as he ambled toward his pygmy-giant brother. It was uncommon wisdom from the guy who used to get pissed and bump uglies. Literally: troll prostitutes who specialize in taking their clients down the Honeydukes Highway... Believe me, you don't want to know the details.

My mind drifted to the last words Albus had said to me before I went back, "Such a beautiful, precious thing is Love, Harry. May you find it once again." Well, that wasn't exactly the last thing he said-more like his portrait. His last real words were "Bugger! Harry, would you stand over there, please? And mind that you don't kill Professor Snape." I didn't exactly follow his advice in either timeline, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Lost in thought, I turned and stepped into the bulk of a middle-aged, stocky Ministry official who'd stood much closer behind me than is polite. I recognized him immediately-sweaty palms, shaggy, blonde hair, breath that smelled like Snape's potions storeroom: "Scrimjob," there to ask me if I was still Dumbledore's Man or if I'd be his.

I shivered involuntarily. Oh. he's a competent Minister, to be sure, but not exactly someone I'd leave alone with a child. Or a pet. Of course, I told him to bugger off-probably not far from what he had in mind-and gave him an earful on what I thought about being a Ministry pinup.

I pushed past the annoying twat and looked up to see the gaggle of Weasleys, then lost the battle with my grin, as the joy at seeing them again just wasn't letting go. Charlie, whom I remembered losing his legs and bleeding out from Rudolphus's curse, was standing between the twins, who had been incinerated in the Diagon Alley inferno. And Ginny, the love of my life, my reason for being, was alive and whole, and being smothered by one of her mother's patented hugs...

Then I felt it-Morgana's muff, I'd missed it. The Soul Bond settled into place. The tug on my heart from my love's direction was all I needed to slip into the first peace I'd known in a decade. I closed my eyes as existential pain faded into memory.

Then I threw my head back and cackled like a madman.

Okay, my timing wasn't great, it being a funeral with most of the Wizarding World's most influential in attendance, and I realize it may have been more thoughtful had I waited until I was at least out of the Weasleys' earshot since I'd just broken Ginny's heart minutes before. (At least I made Bozo's career-he snapped a candid photo of the pig-in-shit who'd go on win the next several Witch Weekly's Most Dazzling Smiles).

In my defense, you have to put it into context-if you've ever had the extreme fortune of being in a Soul Bond relationship, and I'm speaking to the dozen of you out there who have, you know exactly what I mean. For the rest of you, think of the greatest feeling of completeness and wholeness imaginable. Think the spiritual equivalent of riding the edge of an orgasm for the rest of your life. Yeah, it's that good.

Oh, and did I mention how it improves the sex?

Gin and I had shared a Bond, the germ of which had started before today in the last timeline and it had strengthened into a full-on Soul Bond before Christmas of my seventh year, which is why we'd married so soon. Things were fast and loose then, with the attack on the Burrow, Molly's passing, Charlie, Bill, and the Twins gone, and the prophecy calling for me to duke it out with ol' Anguis Rex. We were pretty sure one of us wouldn't survive and we wanted the most out of life.

Of course we thought it would be me who'd die, given that I had to go tête-à-tête with Tom. How wrong we were. McNair stabbed her with a poisoned blade seconds after I banished my adversary to whatever hell there is. She died before I could take her in my arms and took half of my soul with her. The good half.

I looked back at the Weasleys, who weren't exactly pleased with me. My smile slipped a little as Ginny wailed into her mother's shoulder and the concerned and angry stares I was receiving from, well, everyone sort of dashed any hopes of trying to set things right then.

Remus and Moody approached cautiously. "Harry, is everything okay?" the werewolf asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. That worked—instant grin-be-gone.

"Lovely, Lupin, thanks for asking." I said, sliding out from under his hand. Okay, I was probably more brusque with him than I needed to be.

Let me explain-I knew he was trying to help, and before he was a decent enough guy, just weak-the tosser abandoned his pregnant wife and stupidly got captured, by Pettigrew of all people. Tonks, thinking he was dead, went into the last battle wishing to die herself, her newborn daughter back at home with her mum.

I didn't see it-I was a bit preoccupied, obviously-but they say she went into full Valkyrie mode: blitzed out of her gourd on Pepper-ups, strength boosters, and a muggle drug called "angel dust," and morphed into a Hagrid-sized, battleaxe-wielding behemoth. Overcharging like that, she had less than a fifty-fifty shot of surviving even if she didn't die in battle.

Miraculously, Tonks, Hagrid, and Grawp held the west line by themselves. I was told she mowed down anything in her path, showing a particularly savage streak toward werewolves. Go figure. She even chopped her dear aunt Bella in two-the long way-before being felled from behind by her cousin Draco's Killing Curse. Lifeless on the ground, she reverted her form and in the aftermath, I finally got to see her true self. (It's no wonder she hid it—contrary to popular opinion, not all Blacks were beautiful).

What had me brassed off most was that it turns out the greying Marauder was diddling another the whole time: Laura Merryweather, a 'Puff a few years ahead of me at Hogwarts, who gave up her kid when her folks were killed. When the rangy pedophile skipped the country, guess who got to play Godfather to two orphans: yeah, me and good ol' Dobby Daycare.

"Er, right, Harry. Well, if there's anything..." he stammered, not quite making eye contact.

Too much reminiscing-time to get to work. I interrupted him, silently throwing up a privacy spell and switching into my command voice and posture. "Lupin!" I barked. "I need you and Moody to call an Order meeting tonight. Albus left a contingency plan in case he bought it and refocusing the Order under my command was the first order of business. Get the word out-eight o'clock sharp, full meeting, all members. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny too. Schedule time for me to speak alone with Gin beforehand-we'll need half an hour." My tone left no room for argument.

I turned to the grizzled ex-Auror. "Moody, I need you to coordinate with McGonagall and Flitwick about getting Hogwarts locked down and secure. We'll need a second base of Ops in case Number 12 gets compromised. And this school had better open next year or we'll see a mass exodus over summer. Work with Minerva to arrange press coverage of the security improvements. In case I can't bring down the tosser by then, come September first, we're going to make Hogwarts a bastion of hope for these people." The crippled warrior nodded to me, wisely keeping his mouth shut. "While you do that, I've got business back at the castle, then I'm off to HQ to reset the _Fidelius_ and the other wards Albus had keyed to him."

This seemed to surprise them, but Moody took it in stride, apparently noticing the sophistication of my privacy ward. He saluted me with his wand before limping off toward the new Headmistress.

Lupin shook his head. "Harry, the _Fidelius_ charm is very complex magic. Are you sure..."

"You have your orders." I stepped close to the man and straightened my back, pitching my head back a bit and looking down my nose at him to cow him into submission. I might have put a bit of juice into the stare-a trick I picked up from the old codger. "And let's get one thing clear..." I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. "If you're thinking of running out or, heaven forbid, cheating on Nymphadora after the sacrifices she's made for you, I promise I'll personally cut your balls off and feed them to Buckbeak. Break it off with Laura or Tonks, I don't care which, but be a man for once." Startled, he swallowed, nodding. "Good. Dismissed."

I spun on my heel and marched back toward the castle, my mind filling with plans. If I played my cards right, I might be able to end this war soon, depending on how fast I could locate and destroy the Horcruxes. When I got to the entrance, I realized I needed help to pull them off. The best "man" for the job would be my only living friend and confidant in the past world-the whole reason I came back now instead of earlier. Unfortunately, he happened to be busy at the moment, flying over the pyre and singing.

I took a moment and listened. Damn, it was good stuff, evocative and powerful. Few have heard it, but phoenix song is magical in the way of all the good things in life-the joy of holidays, the scent of wild flowers after a warm spring rain, anal sex...

Impatient to get started, I called Fawkes over mid-stanza with my power (more on that later) and he came. But, having just suffered the phoenix-song equivalent of coitus interruptus, he was rather less than pleased. Arriving in an angry squawk and a bright burst of yellow fire, he flew overhead and dropped flaming bird crap on me before flashing out to renew his song.

I know. Add it to the list of things I wish I knew before I stuffed them up: "Must give a bonded phoenix time for closure when its symbiote dies."

As it turns out, this was only the first of my plans to go awry.

* * *

Early that evening, I found myself knackered, lying on the expansive bed of the master suite of Number 12. It had been a rough day, what with traveling back in time, locking HQ down with military grade security, destroying two Horcruxes with Godric's blade... fretting about my upcoming chat with Gin. At least I was saved from having to Apparate about and share the _Fidelius_ secret with everyone-I'd delegated that to Moody and Lupin. I looked at the clock: seven ten. Twenty minutes until the most important conversation of my life.

Don't get me wrong. It's not like this body was weak. Far from it-I was probably as strong magically as my peak last time around, which put me just below Dumbledore and Voldemort, not shabby company. It was that my sixteen year old form wasn't used to channeling the kind of magic I was throwing about. My fingers and right arm felt numb, like they'd suffered an electric shock, and my wand, beside me on the night stand, was slightly blackened and still hot to the touch.

A knock at the door brought me out of my brooding. Was she early? My heart in my throat, I leaped to my feet and opened it a crack as five large, red-haired men with grimaces and familiar sour body odor pushed in, the eldest hitting me with a body-bind jinx that left me unable to move more than my eyeballs. The stocky one, Charlie, moved behind and snagged my arms, arresting my fall. Thanks for small courtesies.

George took out an eye dropper and gave me a cheeky wink. "You don't mind a spot of the ol' 'serum, do ya, Harry? Speak up if you do. Good."

Okay, I could beat this-I rammed my Occlumency barriers up, confident that they could withstand an amateur's brew.

Ron stepped forward, looking uncomfortable. "Hey, I didn't know you guys were going to do this-no questions except about Ginny, okay? Dumbledore left us something to do that's secret and can't get out."

Bill gave the youngest a long look, surprised that he'd stood up to them, before he assented, speaking to his other brothers, "Fair enough. We'll keep it to Ginny." They nodded grudgingly. Amused, he asked, "Where'd you get the Veritaserum anyway, Fred?"

"Nicked it from Snape's stash this afternoon-greasy nob didn't take it with him." A Master's brew. Oh shit.

A few moments later, my body relaxed when, for the first time in over a decade, my mental defenses dropped completely. Bill removed the hex and Charlie and Fred pulled me into an overstuffed reading chair for the interrogation.

Bill seated himself directly across from me so that he could look into my eyes. I felt a sharp presence in my forebrain-he was a Legilimens too. Bugger! "Harry," he said, his voice even, yet quavering with threat, "Tell us what your feelings and intentions are toward Ginny."

I tried to fight it, but I knew how futile it was. "I love Ginny with my whole being. I'd sacrifice myself for her in a heartbeat. I was hoping to beg her to take me back-I'd do anything to have her in my life. Someday, as soon as we are both old enough, I want to ask her to marry me." They nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer.

I kept going, the magic causing me to babble, "And I want to get her back into the sack as soon as possible." Not so satisfied anymore. "As soon as I finish destroying the last of Vodlemort's horcruxes and send the tosser to hell, I plan to rip her clothing from her in a wild fit of passion and bury my face between her..."

"Gah!" Charlie said, stuffing a hand over my mouth. Even in my addled state, I could tell hot pink was an ominous color for five pairs of Weasley ears.

Bill's presence in my forebrain latched onto the images I brought up of ravishing my bride on our wedding night. I hoped he'd think it just a particularly vivid fantasy and not the synesthetic memory that it was. It was a fool's hope.

The unfortunate thing about the brain, as I learned when I picked up the mental arts, is that it's an associative medium. Start with a person's memory of one thing and a vague sense of what you're after and even a novice Legilimens can free-associate his way there-"six degrees of separation" isn't just a muggle parlor game. In about three short hops, Bill and I found ourselves replaying one of my less proud moments.

As you know, magic is the best thing going for the sex trade. "Pollies," women-and sometimes men-willing to take Polyjuice and role-play an evening of magical-contract-bound, "no-questions-asked" debauchery as anyone from Celestina Warbeck to prepubescent veela, could be had for a price. Like most modern magical couples, Gin and I had kept locks of each others' hair from before our wedding night, something we could use to relive our youth several times over in the century ahead.

Her name was Karla. Even without the potion, her likeness was close to Gin's and she was a quick study at the pensieve, enough so for this grieving widower to trade a few Galleons for the chance to plough his wife's virginal field. The two of us and our Ginger-haired voyeur were reliving the tryst, which involved my taking Gin in her Hogwarts robes. I had gathered her hair, plaited into two strands, and was holding them as reins from behind. She moaned loudly as I started in on the "back 40."

A right cross from her eldest brother broke our eye contact as well as my jaw.

"Filthy bastard!" Bill roared, bolting to his feet and planting a solid kick in my chest that snapped a rib and sank me deep into the upholstered chair.

Hearing a quick, shouted synopsis of what he'd seen, the others followed his example and valiantly joined in on the Harry-stomp, each kick trampolining me into the springy cushions. After picking up a set of foot-shaped bruises on my body and a few more broken ribs, the pain gave me a focus to break through the haze and recover some clarity.

My wand was out of reach, so I opted for a spot of multi-fighting instead, which I could do wandless. One of my nastier inventions from the last war, multi-fighting involves a bit of borderline-legal human conjuration, telepathic projection, splitting my consciousness many ways over, a fuckload of magical power, and, oh yes, enough clarity of mind to deliver a steaming pile of ass-whooping.

I spat out the rag and struggled to speak through their kicks. "You blokes like five..." Kick. "On one odds? Real..." Kick. "Sporting. Instead, let's try..." Kick. " Twelve on five." Pause.

"Huh?" they chorused.

I could go as high as twenty-three, but that'd just be showing off.

An even dozen Harrys, each a trained fighter in a lean, sixteen-year-old frame, materialized and made short work of the Weasley boys. I admit I took a little guilty pride in watching Charlie piss himself at facing a trio of Harrys with attitude and a facility for Ye Olde Groin Stomp.

Dispelling my dopplegangers, I snatched my wand and started in on the memory charms, doing a fast group job. I left Ron with a vague recollection of the Horcruxes. I also left them with a cover story and a bit of "attitude adjustment" regarding Gin and me, though in my haste, I may have put a little too much juice into the last.

The memory charm dispelled and they blinked and struggled to their feet.

"Thanks for the lesson in grappling, mates." I chirped. "I think I've almost got it now-it'll definitely come in handy to know this if we get into a tight scrap."

"Uh, no problem, Harry," Fred said, rubbing his head and trying to figure out their five-on-one "bover" ended with the five knocked out cold. The others were getting up slowly, equally confused.

"Least we could do, Old Bean," George added, pressing his fingers to his temple to stopper a small cut.

"So another lesson tomorrow you think?" I cracked my knuckles and flashed them a nasty grin.

"Um, let's lay off on the lessons for now," Charlie said, holding his lower back and trying to stopper blood from where his nose had gotten broken. The six staggered out of the room as another entered.

"Harry?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny," I gasped meeting her gaze, a lump forming in my throat. Though her eyes were red and puffy and her skin was blotchy from crying, to my desperate eyes she was beauty beyond poetry. She smiled meekly at me and I felt through the Bond for her affection, though was disappointed to find only vague, domestic thoughts and a profound sadness about Albus's death. I had no idea they were so close. If it were possible, I felt like even more of a heel for dumping her today of all days.

"What's going on?" she asked, taking in the disheveled state of the room.

"Your brothers were giving me pointers in how to fight." A sharp pain struck my chest and I winced. "I'd better fix these up before the meeting tonight." I shrugged off my shirt, careful to avoid aggravating my broken ribs, and started in on healing the bruises.

After a minute or so, I said, "Look, Gin, I needed to speak with you." She coughed and I filled in, "Oh, don't mind the magic-I had the trace removed. And I learned the healing spells last year from Poppy..."

"Harry," she interrupted, blushing furiously. "Um, could you, um..."

I looked down. I'd also stripped off my trousers to heal up the bruises on my legs. "Uh, oops?"

She coughed nervously as I conjured a privacy screen between us. A smart bit of transfiguration, it should last long enough for me to finish. I slid off my boxers and started in on the weeping scrape where Ron had clouted me on the hip.

"Sorry," I muttered as the anesthetic cold of the charm sank into bruised bone.

She sat quietly for a bit on the other side of the screen, then asked, "Why did you want to talk?"

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. This would be better face-to-face, but what the hell. "Ginny, I needed to tell you something important." I tapped my wand on my chest and a floating rib crept back into place. Wincing, I managed through clenched teeth, "Trying to distance myself from you was the biggest mistake of my life and I realize that now. Gin, I love you more than you can ever know and I can't imagine life without you in it." I grunted as the bone reset, the rib making a soft "pop." "Could you possibly find it in your heart to forgive me and take me back?"

"Oh. About that, Harry..." I knew from her tone of voice that something wasn't right. "This afternoon, I got to thinking. I like you, Harry, I really do. You're a sweet guy. But, I realized you're not the only boy in the world and it's pigheaded of you to expect me to wait for you. Until You-Know-Who is gone, I think you're right, maybe we shouldn't see each other..."

My jaw dropped.

"I mean, I'm young and smart and, I'm not ashamed to say, rather fetching. It's best if I don't get so emotionally involved with you just now since you'll be off doing what it is you have to do, chasing Voldemort or whatever, and I don't want to have to spend my days pining or worrying. It's not like we've been dating for that long anyway-only a few weeks, really." She paused for a long time and her image faded into view as the conjured screen separating us started to disappear. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault." She looked down at her hands, then blurted, "Don't get upset, but Colin asked me out after the funeral and I said yes. He's not a bad bloke, really. Okay for a rebound..."

I was too stunned by what I was hearing to remember to cast the Renewal charm on the screen. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt a vague sense of growing alarm.

"Come see me after you've finished with You-Know-Who, Harry," she said, affecting a faint smile and stepping closer, her wraith-like form becoming more substantial as she neared. With a faint hiss, the screen disappeared completely and I found myself standing before her, nude. Then several things happened.

Gin looked me over, an impish smile on her lips.

I felt a flash of alien fury in the back of my mind.

The door banged open as Molly bustled in, yelling. She clamped her hand over Ginny's eyes and sent me an outraged glare. I could actually feel its frostiness.

I snatched my boxers from the floor and held them in front of me, but teenaged hormones kicked in, spurring a reaction that obviated the attempt to hide my nudity. Ginny, catching a glimpse of my predicament through Molly's fingers, started to giggle.

Hissing, Molly marched her daughter out of the room as anger seeped across the Bond. She slammed the door behind them, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And my boxers.

Here I'd broken the laws of fate and magic, risking all to travel back to my beloved, only to be dumped for Colin Creevey.

I swear, if I ever get my hands on Fate, I'm drowning her in the bathtub.

* * *

Author's Note: My take on the Soul Bond/Time Travel motif so common in the Harry Potter fandom. This story should run for six chapters and is hopefully an entertaining, if irreverent, romp.


	2. Order, Order! And Boobs!

Again, thanks to Alpha Fight Club for their help hammering the prose into shape. Also, thanks go to story-pimp-extraordinaire kmfrank for spotting some mistakes and awkward phrasing. See chapter 1 for disclaimer.

* * *

Chapter 2: Order, Order! And Boobs

* * *

I was late getting to the meeting--Ginny's comments had meant a change in my plans was in order. She only wanted me after Tom was gone? Fine. I'd get rid of the bastard tonight!

Knowing Sirius's place as I did meant I could tap into his stash. I tossed back a couple Pepper-ups and a Ptolemy booster, then chased it with the not-entirely-legal eyesight fixer he'd scored for me--he'd intended it as a birthday present the summer after he cashed in.

I slipped into my Godfather's old set of dueling armour from the master suite wardrobe. It's customary in pureblood families for the scion to get a set as soon as he comes of age in case of an honor duel or blood feud. Though they didn't exactly appreciate his Gryffindor ways, Sirius's family still had him fitted for a set; pure-blood tradition dies harder than Dark Lords.

The suit was supple black leather with charcoal-coloured overlays of Ukranian Ironbelly hide on elbows, knees, cuirass. I topped it off with a set of high, black boots, polished to gleaming perfection, and Gryffindor's sword at my waist. If I were nostalgic, I'd have noted it was what I wore in the last timeline when I took Tom out.

As I strode toward the double doors to the dining room, I caught some of the voices.

"Always knew Snape was no good."

"Harry's really vulnerable now, Ron. Watch what you say around him."

"Pink is an 'orrible color. Your seester, she would look even more 'ideous…"

"Tonks, let's say you, me, and this bottle of Bordeaux I nicked from Sirius's cellar find us a cozy spot afterwards and play the two-backed, furry beast."

"That Harry, he's a right fine bloke. He and Ginny make a great couple."

"Where's the little twat who called this meeting? I can't wait all night..."

I made a splaying motion with my fingers and the doors banged open, causing all conversation to stop. One thing Tom taught me--make your entrances count.

I stepped into the now silent Hall, the tapping of my footfalls echoing loudly on the marble floor, as I made for Albus's former spot at the table. On the way, I fixed Hestia Jones with my gaze, feeding a bit of magic into it. "I called this meeting, Jones, and you'll forgive me that I was taking care of a few things first." She swallowed heavily. Nice rack on her, but something about her nasal voice just grated—Hessy was the kind I wouldn't kick out of bed, but wouldn't make breakfast for either.

I tossed a cloth sack onto the table, where it landed with a clatter. "Let's get started. With Albus gone, our first business is choosing a new leader. I nominate the only one here who is suitable: Me."

That went over well—like a troll fart in an lift.

The outrage died down slightly when Moody clomped up next to me. Looking me over with his good eye, he cleared the top layer of gravel from his throat. "Potter. You look the part and I don't exactly oppose your joining the Order, but I don't see a phoenix on your shoulder."

I gave him a curt nod and closed my eyes, sending out a feeler to that pink marshmallowy place where phoenixes live.

/Oi Fawkes, think you can drop in for a sec./

I got the bird equivalent of a rude hand gesture.

Murmurs in the room. I closed my eyes and called to him again. /Okay, listen, you smouldering sparrow, I've apologized about earlier. I'm really sorry, okay? Now I need you here--I'm giving you until the count of three, then I break out The Voice. One. Two.../

A ball of flames appeared directly in front of me, a bit larger and hotter than normal, and my eyebrows singed. The red-gold imperial bird delivered an annoyed squawk and refused my offer of an arm, instead opting for the tabletop, where he traipsed through the plate of potatoes and sausages Molly had made for me. I idly wondered how she'd known I was hungry or, for that matter, how I knew the plate was for me.

I guess I should clarify about the Phoenix Lord thing. I can't "talk" to phoenixes exactly, I just know what they say and I know they seem to understand me. When I really want, I can command them, though it gives me a horrible headache. Occasionally, we can exchange visions, but usually we just converse. In the last timeline, Albus's portrait and I worked out that my power is the prophesized "Power he knows not."

Last timeline, Fawkes and I bonded just before my seventh year and became fast friends. Sitting on my shoulder in the last battle, he flashed me out of more than my share of Killing Curses. Somehow I don't think he'll quite have my back this time around.

I stared back at the bird, unblinking. Rule Number 1 around phoenixes: never show weakness.

In my head, I went through my confidence-boosting mantra: "That's right, I'm Harry-Fucking-Potter: Phoenix Lord, Order of Merlin First Class, Captain of the Auror Special Strike Force, Dark Wizard Slayer--fifty-seven confirmed kills, including the Parselbitch himself. Twice. I'm a badass who defines the term 'excessive force.' I don't take crap from anyone."

Except for the Zippo pheasant, apparently. Fawkes remained singularly unimpressed.

I tried to establish détente. /Look, Fawkes, I can trot out The Voice, or we can do this right. I know we started out on the wrong foot.../ He ruffled his feathers and turned his back to me. /Just pop up on my arm a sec--I need to establish myself as Leader of these tossers, take care of a couple things, and then after tonight, you can go off and watch your phoenix sitcoms or whatever it is you do./ Fawkes trilled an angry note and lowered his head, challenging. I gave him a low growl. I'm no animagus--my form's a chipmunk, so I never bothered to learn it--but grown men (and nancy-boys like Malfoy) have been known to wet themselves at my growl.

The bird ruffled its feathers and hopped up onto my arm, looking bored. Minnie tutted at me like I was losing it and I could tell the others weren't far behind. I turned to address the Order before he changed his mind. "As I was saying, I'm Phoenix chosen. According to the bylaws of this august Order, that means I'm calling the shots now...."

A long fart from the flaming robin punctuated my statement--and here I thought Hagrid's were bad. Fawkes disappeared in a flash that ignited the gas and I was left in the middle of a fireball. Peachy. I looked over--at least the twins were enjoying the show. Fart humor always went over well with them.

I froze the flames, having to pump a bit more juice into the spell than I normally do--extinguishing phoenix fire takes a bit more than puffing out a candle in Flitwick's class.

/You want it rough, Fawkes? Fine. AS PHOENIX LORD, MARKED BY FIRES OF OLD, I HOLD DOMINION OVER SPRITES OF FLAME. I SUMMON THEE, FAWKES, TO ME!/ Hey, I didn't choose the lingo. "Here boy" doesn't do the trick. Believe me, I've tried. Whoever made the rules for this Phoenix Lord rot was a stickler for formality.

Lovely. And now I had a migraine. Using The Voice across dimensions is heavy stuff, the only consolation being that I knew it was probably about ten times worse for him.

The Order had crept back, knowing that something big had just happened--I usually glow when I break out the heavy artillery—and they were looking at me strangely. Moony cocked his head like he was trying to figure something out. Hermione bounced in her seat like her bum had been cursed. Ron was giving her a goofy look--not sure what that was about or whether it had anything to do with her problems sitting.... Dung scratched thoughtfully at his filthy hair as his other hand pocketed another piece of Black silver. Ginny's expression was an enigma--I hoped it was admiration, though I'd have settled for horniness. I flashed her a cheeky wink, earning a cluck from Molly, and she looked away.

The phoenix arrived with a whimper amidst a timid puff of smoke and he tumbled backward, landing in my plate. Sitting up, he ruffled his feathers and tried to recover his dignity--or at least as much as he could while wearing a skullcap of mashed potatoes.

"You and me, bird, we're going to have some words later."

Fawkes ducked his head, angry but pliant. I left him scraping my dinner from his feathers as I addressed the Order. "As I was saying, as Phoenix Chosen, I am the natural leader of the Order. We have a lot of ground to cover, so I propose we get started." Over Ron's and Hermione's protests, I gave the Order a run-down of the Horcrux situation.

"Bloody hell, Harry, what you're saying, it's, it's impossible..." Tonks said, her hair turning Weasley orange, then puce.

Hermione interrupted, standing, "Not impossible, Tonks. Why Harry and Professor Dumbledore almost destroyed a Horcrux a few days ago. I've been reading all about them." I raised an eyebrow, wondering where she could have found anything to read on Horcruxes. "I've come up with a list of possible items and cross-referenced it with likely locations where a Horcrux might be. I think that if we split up our efforts, we may be able to find one soon...."

"Um, about that, Hermione," I said, picking up the bag from the table. "In my spare time today, I've taken the liberty of identifying all of the Horcruxes and, well, destroying a couple of them." Her jaw dropped and I continued with a shrug, "Seemed like the thing to do at the time." I tossed the ruined tiara onto the table, where it landed with a chatter. "Ravenclaw's diadem." I followed with the next item. "Slytherin's locket. Albus already did Peverell's ring and I took care of the diary second year, so that just leaves Hufflepuff's cup, Nagini, and the Dark Wanker himself."

The twins nudged each other, mouthing "Dark Wanker" and giggling. Sometimes I wonder about them.

I closed my eyes and sent a mental picture to Fawkes, who ruffled his feathers, glared at me, then flamed out. He returned a moment later to drop a heavy, pewter cup onto my head. I snatched it from the air, burning my fingers in the process, and placed it on the table, where it scorched the wood and sent up wisps of smoke.

"Thanks, Fawkesie lady."

He chattered at me angrily. Clearly not a Hendrix fan.

"Well, yeah I knew it'd burn. It was in Bella's vault, after all."

A loud squawk and more angry chattering.

"Um, maybe because you're immune to fire?"

He sniffed and hopped to the other side of the table.

"Harry?" Bill asked, looking pale. "Did you just nick that from a vault at Gringotts?"

I nodded as he collapsed into his chair, muttering something about tracking charms and losing his job.

"Might want to cover your ears." I drew Godric's sword and stabbed the blade to the hilt through the rim of the cup. A fierce wind started to blow in the dining room of Number 12 as the dying fragment warbled. I struggled to keep hold of the blade as inky blackness crept out of the cup and coated my wrist and arm. I pushed a torrent of magic into the blade, which intensified the screams. As I felt myself gaining the upper hand, all the glassware in the room shattered. My body glowed brilliantly for in an instant, then all became silent.

Breathing heavily, I sheathed the sword and wiped the sweat from my brow. "Only Nagini now."

"Bloody hell, Podder!" Charlie said amidst the murmurs, his nose still swollen from our encounter earlier that evening. "You've done that three times today?"

"Yeah, but this one was pretty easy. You should have seen the locket--it really kicked my arse."

I closed my eyes and sent an image of what I wanted to Fawkes. He responded with an vision of dropping me into the North Sea. I sent the image again, followed by a metaphorical still of a phoenix being forced to wear pink ribbons and a pretty little bow. He sent me one of dropping a vat of acidic dragon piss onto my head, then flamed out.

A few seconds later, he returned and perched upon the back of my chair, ruffling his feathers importantly. "Did you get her, Fawkes?"

Fawkes, indignant, hissed and sent the mental image to me, then hopped over to my plate and started devouring my sausages.

"Nice one." I turned to the Order. "Nagini's dead--Fawkes dropped her into a volcano. That just leaves Riddle." And me, of course, but I wasn't about to bring it up. There's no way I could deal with the Horcrux in my head tonight. Besides, the only real danger, as I saw it, was if Tom's followers somehow managed to use me for another ritual. Since I wasn't planning on leaving any alive to try, it seemed an acceptable risk.

I addressed the Order. "Okay. I propose we all take a short recess while I go kill Voldemort. Oh, and Arthur?" The man looked up at me in surprise as I winced inwardly--I'd forgotten that the last time around we weren't on a first-name basis until after Ginny and I were married. "Er, I mean, Mr. Weasley?"

He recovered from his initial shock. "Arthur's fine, Harry, What do you need?"

I knelt before the man, head bowed, in accordance with tradition. "I was wondering, sir, if I might have your permission to court your daughter."

Ginny gasped as Molly bellowed, "Absolutely not! Arthur..."

The five Weasley brothers chorused, " That Harry, he's a right fine bloke. He and Ginny make a great couple." Did I mention I overdid it on the Obliviate programming?

"Okay, that's just a little bit creepy," Tonks muttered, eying me suspiciously.

Arthur looked at me with confusion, barely noticing the rant Molly had started about how I was not a nice enough boy for her daughter. He patted her arm. "Molly, I'm the head of the family." He turned to me. "Harry, you have my permission to court Ginny--provided you behave yourself," then added as an afterthought, "After you kill You-Know-Who." He turned back to Molly with a smile. "That better, Mollywobbles?" Her red face indicated that it was anything but.

"Right," I said, arresting her rant and cracking my knuckles. "Okay, I'm off to Hawaii to take care of that. Wish me luck."

"Wait!" Hermione said, rushing forward and clinging to me desperately. "Harry, you can't go alone! It's suicide!"

I lifted her chin and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Hermione, you're a good friend. Trust me--this is the only way." We exchanged a lingering hug, stopping only when I noticed the stormy look on Ron's face. Ginny didn't look so bothered though--odd, that. I considered giving Herms's bum a quick grope for luck, but thought better of it.

I looked over at Fawkes, who was gulping down another of my sausages. /Yo Fawkes, what do you say we end this?/

He sniffed in annoyance.

/Seriously, with Tom gone, I won't need you anymore and I promise to leave you alone./ With a sigh, he nodded, hopping back across the table and fluttering to my outstretched hand. He locked his beady black eyes on mine and we exchanged a flurry of images as we planned our next move. With a brief trill and another incendiary burst of flatulence, he disappeared. I Disapparated, leaving in my wake a deafening crack and a blaze of phoenix napalm.

* * *

I arrived at the rim of Mauna Koa and immediately threw up my strongest anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards, as well as a force field above the wide pool of smoking lava. My body rimed as I applied a high-powered cooling charm and followed with a Disillusionment. I cracked my neck in anticipation of the battle. On the rocks beneath my feet was the charred tail of a giant snake, the bulk of its body and head having been consumed by flame. I kicked the remainder of Nagini into the pool and watched it burn with no small amount of satisfaction.

In a flash, literally, Fawkes appeared with Voldemort in her clutches, trousers by his ankles, giving us a glimpse of more of the Dark Lord than I'd wanted. He was hissing in Parseltongue as Fawkes dropped him headlong into the pool of lava and flew back toward me.

A few centimeters above the surface, Tom arrested his fall, righted himself, and hovered. Shit. I'd forgotten he could fly.

"Potter," he spat, casting a detection spell that blanketed the area. My form glowed brightly for a moment, just long enough for a pair of red slits to lock onto me. "Avada Kedavra," he rasped, green light jetting from his wand.

Fawkes, positioned directly between us, turned and, with wide eyes, saw the curse bearing down on him. With a puff of flame, he disappeared and reappeared behind me.

"Thanks," I muttered as a wave of my wand brought a wall of lava up to intercept the curse. It slammed into the crusted yellow barrier and splashed molten rock all over me, my armor and skin sizzling despite the cooling charm.

A Cruciatus followed, and then another Killing Curse, both of which were absorbed by more lava. A second, brutal Cruciatus drove me to dodge. Rolling out of my lunge, I banished a large boulder at him, then snapped my wrist to send a second into the pool near his feet, splashing a wall of molten rock up onto him. He conjured a shield of ice to protect himself, which exploded in a "woof" of steam as it met the lava.

I used the diversion to gather my magic to me. Whatever I did would have to be good--my reserves were taking a beating as Tom tore at my wards in an attempt to flee--and I didn't like my chances with him in a straight-up fight.

I formed a clear image in my mind of what I wanted, just as Minerva had always taught, and conjured something above my enemy. Something big. Really big.

The hulking form dropped downward, as if driven off a cliff. Sensing something amiss, Voldemort looked up just as the grille of a twenty-tonne lorry smashed into his face with a crunch of bone. An instant later, the two of them plunged into the hellish pool. As his head dipped below the surface, red eyes glinted at me with a look of utmost hatred.

A few seconds later, the petrol tanks ignited and an explosion spat more lava out of the pool. Still no sign of my adversary.

Several minutes later, I nodded my head and saluted my fallen foe with my wand. Or maybe it was my middle finger.

* * *

Exhausted and still smoking from where gobbets of magma had splashed on me, I Apparated back to Headquarters. I suspect I didn't look all that great, the lava and sulphur having done a number on my skin and clothing, but that didn't matter--I'd done what I'd come back for.

Without a word, I strode up to Ginny, gathering her in my arms, and I gave her a hungry kiss, one into which I poured all the sorrow and need I'd built up over a decade of solitude. She returned the gesture, though without the same level of urgency. I had hoped to feel a bit of passion across our Bond, but it just wasn't there--rather, I felt vague sense of annoyance at the public display. Setting her petite body back down, I searched her warm brown eyes for affection, which was present, but I also found hesitancy and doubt.

Calypso's crack, I'd just killed Voldemort for her!

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. "You stink, Harry."

Fred and George, exchanging a glance, stepped forward. George cast some cleaning charms and Fred did a spell I didn't recognize, one which caused my apparel to glow faintly with a periwinkle hue.

I turned to address the others. "Voldemort is dead. We still need to take care of the Death Eaters, but I'd like to bring to the floor a motion that we've covered enough this evening and that the rest can wait until our next." Remus seconded the motion and it carried soon after.

The commotion that followed was pretty intense--I had to endure a long string of incredulous questions on how I did it and whether I was, indeed, certifiable. I eventually resorted to dumping my memories into Albus's pensieve and giving guided tours of Tom's final moments and his brief, rather one-sided debate with the lorry. Amelia showed up not long afterward and made a copy of the memory, which she took back to the Ministry with Arthur.

Fred and George approached a moment later. "If it isn't ickle Harrikins, slayer of evil wizards," George said, as I started to feel uneasy.

"Aye, brother of mine," Fred said, feeling my bicep. "A tough one, our Harry. Good with his wand. And good with the ladies too, no doubt."

"And the memory charms. Don't forget those," George said. I swallowed heavily.

"How could I forget--oh, wait, I know how." Fred tapped his temple. "Memory charm, you know."

"That Harry, he's a right fine bloke. He and Ginny make a great couple," they said in unison, rolling their eyes and looking decidedly unamused.

Bill approached with a grimace, "The thing about memory charms is that once someone knows they've been charmed, they're dead easy to undo, especially for a professional curse breaker."

"Right you are," Fred said, polishing his nails on his shirt. "In fact, professionals such as we find they may even be easier to undo than, say, bruises all over one's body."

"Or possibly clothing on one's body." George said to his brother with an obvious wink. Then, in darker tones, "In fact, were I to get my hands on the ass-mangler who..." he trailed off as Molly approached with Ginny.

Bill moved to where he could whisper in my ear. "Joking aside, Harry, I saw what's in your head. You'd better treat Ginny well or you'll be hearing from us. Be sure of that." He gave me a long stare as the twins made low, fake bows, kissed their mother on the cheek, and left the room.

I looked over at Ginny, who seemed a little uncomfortable, and I decided to take the initiative. "Um, I'm sorry about before with the kiss, Gin. I guess I got a little carried away." Molly sniffed in the background.

"That's okay, Harry," she said. Normally I considered her pouts endearing, but for some reason I found it annoying and juvenile now.

"So, with Voldemort gone, we can we start dating, right?" I asked, hopeful.

Ginny answered with silence, staring at her feet. Why couldn't I sense anything from her through our Bond?

"Ginny, dear," Molly said, her features softening as she took in my distress. "Harry deserves an answer."

"I never expected you'd do it so bloody fast!" she shouted. "I mean, you were supposed to take a year or more to kill Voldemort. Not an evening. I'm not ready, Harry--I haven't had time to think."

"Ginny, language," I said, beating Molly to it. Where the hell did that come from?

Tears fell down her cheeks. "Something's changed and I don't know what. I don't know if I even l-love you anymore.... Harry, I like Colin, I really do. And the more I think about it, the more I feel like maybe my feelings for you have been affected by my Life Debt or something... something I don't feel anymore." She took a deep breath. "I just don't know if we're right for each other in the long run," she said, turning and running away.

"Ginny, dear..." Molly called after her, then turned back to me, her features softening as her expression evinced understanding and sympathy, like she used to so many years ago. "Harry, give her time. It's been difficult for her."

I nodded, dejected, leaving the room and heading upstairs to be alone with my thoughts and perhaps a bottle. Half-way up, I heard a sizzling noise as my clothing disappeared, leaving me dressed in just the wand holster on my wrist and the sword belt about my waist. I just sighed and trudged on, past the alcove where a now extraordinarily hairy Tonks was straddling Remus, past the second floor landing, where Charlie and Hessy were going at it like a pair of nasal kneezles. Past the third floor, where I caught part of Hermione's stern lecture about proper lubrication of her bum. I entered my room on the fourth and grabbed a robe from the bureau. Seconds after it drooped over my shoulders, it, too, fizzled and disappeared.

With a sigh, I turned down the lights and lay upon the bed. Tired as I was, sleep did not come quickly.

* * *

Terror grabbed me by the balls and I awoke with a start. In the back of my mind was the knowledge that my Bond-mate was frightened and hurt. Someone was going to pay.

I reached for my wand from beside the bed, and slid on some boxers, which disappeared in a quiet fizzle. Peachy. I quietly thanked the twins that I'd be going into battle "commando" in more ways than one.

I Apparated silently to the Burrow, arriving in Molly's garden, where I'd have cover from the hedgerows. I noticed a small circle of black-clad intruders surrounding a crumpled, red-haired form in the dewy grass. One of them was unmasked, her jet hair flaring wildly about her head, her dark eyes wide with rage and insanity.

"YOU BITCH!" she screamed, giving the whimpering form a high-heeled kick. Seconds later, another unmasked Death Eater--Lucius Malfoy--arced a Torture curse at Molly, the crimson glow lending his face a devilish look.

He held her for several seconds under the curse, Molly's pain so intense that I could almost feel it myself. I silently raised anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards as I awaited my chance. "Again, blood traitor, I ask you, where is Potter? I very much wish to enquire what became of our Dark Lord and my sources tell me he had something to do with it."

I stepped closer and sent a silent cutting curse at Malfoy, gutting him from groin to chin, overpowering the spell a bit so that the force of the spell blew him onto his back and turned him partly inside-out.

Moving quickly to the right, I caught Bella in the neck with a bone-exploding curse, a favorite of mine for nighttime fighting, as the invisible bolt allowed me to keep my cover. A third--Pettigrew, by his build--was consumed by my collagen-dissolving curse, coming out as a hot-pink "splut" of light, a hyped-up cousin to what the muggles call "flesh-eating virus."

By now, I was down to six opponents, including an oily one who moved with familiar sibilant grace--Snape. But my cover was blown, as evinced by the Killing Curses that screeched by too close for comfort.

"Now that's darned rude!" I shouted, getting into a rhythm of bobbing, weaving, and kneecapping.

No-Names One and Two promptly lost their legs below the hips from a nasty shredding curse I like to call, "Rocks in a Box." I ratcheted up the offensive. Three's cranium was crushed by an engorged garden gnome whom I directed with an Imperius. Four immolated in blue flame from my deflection of Five's incendiary curse. Five tried to Apparate away, but I nicked him with a Confundus just as he did, which caused him to splinch badly. That just left the grease monkey and me. Goody.

"Potter," he sneered, casting his trademark Sectumsempra. I swatted it away and returned an overcharged bludgeoner--even if he'd blocked it (which he did), it was even money that he'd break his forearm in the process (which he did as well).

"Snape," I said with a hint of a smirk. He switched his wand to his left hand with a look of surprise. "Not finding it quite so easy to eavesdrop on my thoughts?" I sent a silent bone-breaking curse at him, which he barely managed to dodge. With his left hand, he extracted a ceramic vial from his robes and girly-threw it at me.

With a thought, I stopped the vial in mid-air between us. "Let me guess, Snape, you were one of the last ones picked on the playground..."

He sent a dark stunner my way. Before countering his spell with my shield, I flicked my wand and the vial tumbled over his shoulder, where it landed upon the ruin that used to be Malfoy. White wisps of vapour surrounded the corpse, which began to shudder and animate.

"An entrail-extruding draught? For me, Sevvie? You shouldn't have." I fluttered my eyelashes at him, relishing the effect it would have--I've got Mum's eyes after all--and he growled a blasting hex my way. I deflected it and countered with a long sequence of monosyllabic curses, mostly blunt force trauma-dealers, that battered his lefty-shield and put him on his heels.

He continued to chatter as he threw a series of increasingly desperate curses at me. Cast with his left hand, they were easy to dodge as I closed the distance between us. "No matter, Potter." A dark organ-decaying curse. "Like your father..." A lung-collapser. "You've little talent for real fighting." Cruciatus. "Nor the stomach for doing what must be done." An eyeball liquifying curse. I was really close now. I dodged and planted a kick onto his left hand, snapping his wand.

I raised my own to his unprotected chest and, meeting his eyes, I thought, "Avada Kedavra" in my head. He gasped, having read my thoughts, and I winked at him. "Psych!" Then I slugged him in the nose. As Snape staggered back, I caught him with a tripping jinx and he fell into the animated goo that used to be his colleague. A moment later, Malfoy's intestines looped around his neck and he was pulled within the cloud. It wasn't as elegant as how I'd iced him the last time around (which, among other things, involved his taking jackhammers in two orifices), yet still strangely satisfying.

I ran over to Molly and picked her up, her whimpering face leaning into my bare chest. I sprinted to the Burrow, where a sharp kick opened the door, then laid her upon the kitchen table and started in with stabilization and healing charms. She was hurt, but not badly and would be okay in a few minutes.

"Harry, clean yourself please," she whispered from her healing trance. "I don't want to have to clean blood out of the carpet tomorrow." I Scourgified, then searched through the Bond for status of my beloved. I felt my bond-mate in pain, though less so than before.

Praying I wasn't too late, I bounded up the stairs to the first landing and pounded on her door, hoping against hope that she was alive and safe inside. A moment later, a yawning redhead in a thin nightgown answered the door.

"Ginny!" I shouted. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" I heard the Floo flare below--Arthur was returning from the Ministry, no doubt having gotten word of the attack.

"I sensed something was wrong and I came here as soon as I could. I just killed a bunch of Death Eaters outside. Are you sure you're okay?" I looked her over, confused as to why I had thought her injured. Molly and Arthur started speaking downstairs and I heard Ron stir from the floor above.

"Of course, Harry."

"It's just that, well, I was worried about you because..." I took a deep breath, knowing what I had to ask, and placed my hand on her chest over her heart. "Ginny, do you feel something... special between us?"

"Besides your hand and my boobs?"

I nodded, as Molly and Arthur started up the stairs from below. Ron, still groggy with sleep, was thundering down the stairs to our landing. "Yeah. A bond of sorts that ties us together? Anything?"

She thought for a moment, scrunching her brow. "No, Harry. Nothing like that. Maybe I felt something before, but not any more."

"Harry James Potter, you will take your hand off Ginny's bosom this instant!" Molly yelled.

I turned, remembering that I was nude and noted the placement of my hand and the skimpiness of her summer nightdress. The reaction was as obvious as it was instantaneous. "Um, I can explain..."

"Harry, remember what we agreed upon," Arthur said, his face stony. "You said you would behave around Ginny."

I swallowed, nodding.

"I retract your permission to court my daughter," he said, with an air of finality.

"Dad, Harry's a right fine bloke. He and Ginny make a great couple," Ron said.

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny, Molly, Arthur, and I chorused.

Before I could Apparate away, Molly hit me with a Saltpeter hex, curing me of at least one annoyance, and Arthur sent a stinging hex at my arse. I Disapparated just as Molly wondered aloud about why her bum hurt all of a sudden.

Arriving back at Number 12, I angrily threw my wand onto the stand beside my bed. After a long time, during which I listened to a tinny argument in the back of my mind, I started to doze off.

"Potter..." A familiar hiss inside my head woke me. "I did not realize you were a Horcrux."

Damn.


	3. Me? A Hogwarts Professor?

* * *

Chapter 3: Me? A Hogwarts Professor?

* * *

I awakened gradually, the haze in my mind registering alien sensations of touch and musky, flowery scent that, though familiar, was a bit off. The Bond. Across it, I felt my mate's right breast cupped, the pad of a thumb stroking the areola. Gentle fingers traced upward along her inner thigh.

Now more awake, I took matters in hand on my side of the Bond. In my mind, I conjured images of my beloved, her face flushed with passion and buried in the pillow, her lips swollen, parted. My teen-aged body needed little more encouragement. We started to move in unison, our hearts racing, as we accelerated toward an end.

A blunt jab in the back of her/my throat shattered the moment and we both gagged.

I heard a tinny voice through ears that weren't mine. "What's the matter, Mollywobbles, soft palate thrust again?"

"No, it's not that, Arthur. It's just... I don't think Harry is a good boy for our Ginny. Don't ask me how I know, but I think his mind is very dirty."

The gorge rose in my throat and I almost didn't make it to the loo in time.

* * *

"You should slay her; that would be the most expedient option. Mothers-in-law, like muggle-born, are a breed best exterminated." Tom's voice in my head was genuinely excited at the prospect. "It's highly doubtful that the Bond at this stage would remain beyond death."

I had strong suspicions about what had happened and would need to talk with Albus posthaste. Fortunately, I was able to muffle my connection with Molly to the point where I didn't think she could hear Tom and me.

"Mothers-in-law?" I used a towel to wipe the bile from my mouth. "Who talks like that?" I'd fought an hour-long battle with Voldemort in my mind last night. After the stalemate, we'd established a weak truce, a working arrangement that would keep us out of each others' affairs. One which lasted only a few hours until my tag-along decided to channel his inner advice columnist.

"It's proper grammar, you imbecile."

"Fine, but when you say it, it sounds like you've got something large and unpleasant crammed up your arse."

He sputtered for a moment, unable to formulate a retort, then hissed, "You shall address me with respect! I am the Dark Lord!"

"You were the Dark Lord. Now you're a just parasitic infection, crab lice on the brain." In the back of my mind, I felt that Molly had dressed and was preparing breakfast for Arthur and her two youngest. I stole a quick glance through her eyes at Ginny, who was falling asleep into her muesli--Gin's never been a morning person.

"You are as depraved as you are misguided, Potter" He did the mental equivalent of flexing his muscles, feeling for an advantage.

I laughed, twirling my finger languidly in real life and slapping him down in my mind. "And I should be concerned about offending your sense of propriety? I've seen inside your head enough to know how hollow your insult is."

"And I've seen enough inside your head to know that you know absolutely nothing about relationships, Potter. Small wonder you're alone."

"And you're so much better?" I smirked. "Oh, this should be good. Do tell."

"A gentleman never tells," he said smugly.

I coughed, "Liar."

"I'll have you know that I was quite the charmer in my youth."

"Whatever." I said, returning to my room. In my mind, Molly was berating Ron for shirking his chores. Something about Bill's and Fleur's wedding and his needing to scrub some irrelevant something-or-other to immaculacy.

After a long, uncomfortable pause, I broke the silence. "So..."

"So." Tom replied, making a dramatic pause and showing me an image of a comely brunette, short, with large brown eyes and closely cropped, curly hair. "Sarah Underhill, my first, was one of the others in the orphanage where I spent my youth. She had an arse so tight, it could have belonged to a young boy..."

Without warning, he sprang a powerful attack on my distracted mind, one that reminded me of his attempt to possess me in my fifth year. I fell to my knees as my hands went to my forehead, blood draining from my curse scar, only just scabbed over from our tiff last night.

I thrust my magic into my Occlumency and the barriers rocketed into place, bringing his assault to a full stop. "Hah!" I panted, hearing a distracted grumble from his end.

Leto's labia, he found the seam fast! Every set of mental barriers, no matter how strong, must have a weakness. It's a fairly straightforward matter of applied metaphysics and how, metaphorically speaking, Occlumency amounts to stretching a flowing, two-dimensional membrane over a blob of thought. Even with magic, there's no way to close it off without a seam or weak spot--unless, like Luna, you insanely shape your thoughts into a torus. Muggle mathematicians, in a fit of accidental humor, named this the "hairy ball" theorem. The trick to doing a possession is to find this weakness and drive a wedge into the barrier, cracking it open and ramming one's consciousness through the gap.

Tom did and in a span of about three seconds, it felt like my skull was splitting open. Fortunately, I'd prepared long ago for such an eventuality: nobody, I mean nobody, possesses me again. Really. Nobody.

Tom's consciousness found itself trapped just inside, where his avatar was summarily chained to the wall, dressed in G-string and collar. In short order, he was thrust face-down onto a thick, shag carpet as Dolores Umbridge, clad in hot pink fetish-wear, strapped on an appendage. Beside her stood an Engorged house elf, his long fingers holding a tin of petroleum jelly and a muggle drain snake.

Silently, I thanked the twins of my former life for their high-quality hallucinogens--I doubt I could have conceived the trap without the trip. Wrapping a towel about my head and a fresh set of robes over my shoulders, I Apparated to Hogsmeade just as Tom's screams became louder than those of his dying Horcruxes. I didn't blame him.

Dumbledore would have tried redeeming him. Not me--I'd settle for making Riddle my bitch.

* * *

My appearance hidden by a Glamour, I pushed through the Hogsmeade crowd celebrating Voldemort's fall and jogged toward the castle. On the way, I spotted Minerva and the other professors entering Rosmerta's pub and I realized that I could get answers from Albus if I hurried. Molly was already working herself into a tizzy with wedding preparations and I wasn't sure how much more I could survive--I mean, thirty minutes fussing over the lace beneath the guest book? You can't make this stuff up!

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office. "Puce polywogs." It slid aside. Phineas had become quite the spy for me, now that I'd promised to hang his portraits in the Ministry, Gringotts, and the dressing room of his favorite brothel.

I approached my mentor's portrait, the familiar figure in half-moon glasses and garish robes dozing. "Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak, time for the barmy one to speak," I whispered, rolling my eyes at the bad rhyme. He stirred and cerulean eyes blinked open.

"Harry, dear boy, what a delightful surprise. I trust, since you were able to activate the painting, that you've dealt with the matter of Tom Riddle?"

"Yeah, took Voldemort down the night of your funeral."

His eyes widened. "Did you manage to find..."

"Yeah, I got the Horcruxes. Ravenclaw's diadem was in the castle, Fawkes snagged the cup from the Lestranges' vault, and the locket was at Sirius's all along. You know about the ring and diary. Oh, and we dropped Nagini in a volcano."

He stared at me aghast, his mouth opening and closing a few times in succession.

"How...?" he asked trailing off.

I closed my eyes and silently cast one of my favorite Glamours to make irises red, my pupils, mere slits. Opening them, I leveled a stare at the man and hissed, "Why, by embracing the Dark Arts, Dumbledore. As a great wizard taught me, there is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it." His image paled and he slid off of his chair and onto the floor, mumbling to himself, "I knew he was one, I knew it."

"Gotcha," I winked, returning my appearance with a laugh. "You should have seen the look on your face." I noticed that the other paintings in the office were chuckling as well. "Actually, I just used Gryffindor's sword. Handy thing, that."

He clutched his chest and climbed back into his chair with a forced laugh. "An admirable prank, Harry. Again, you amaze me with your resourcefulness. But how did you know? I myself did not know of these things at the time of my demise and I apprised my painting daily."

"That's actually part of why I'm here. I've come back from the future." Molly had a sharp intake of breath as the Headmaster shook his head, a grave expression on his face, and opened his mouth to speak.

I interrupted. "Don't lecture me, Al. I've heard it all from you already--just before you and I started making the spells to come back."

He harrumphed. "You deprive me of my favorite pastime, Harry: lecturing on that which I am somewhat knowledgeable." Deflated, he muttered, "Why did we do it, Harry? Why today?"

I felt a moment of crushing sadness. "We won, but the cost was far too high, for me especially. I lost Ginny, my wife and love, and couldn't continue." On Molly's end of the bond, I could feel Molly gasp as the rawness of my feelings bled across the bond. "Why today? You and I both know how crappy my childhood was--you'll understand why I didn't want to go back any farther than I had to."

He nodded. "Harry, one of my greatest failings..."

I cut him off. "Please, I've heard that too. To get back to your question, we chose today because the plan was for Fawkes to bond with me and the best time for it to happen was right after your funeral--last time, it almost didn't happen in time and I wouldn't have killed Voldemort without him. We figured that my coming back would give some of the stray phoenix magic something to latch onto."

The Headmaster's face brightened. "So my familiar has chosen you as my successor? How extraordinary!"

My eyes flicked to my shoes for a moment. "We're not exactly bonded, but we were able to defeat Tom nonetheless. I'm here because when I came back, there were... complications. Some of the magic affecting me in the future followed me back."

He gave me a knowing grin. "You refer to your excellent Bond with Miss Weasley?"

"You knew about our Bond, sir?" I'd forgotten how annoying his secret-keeping was.

"Of course, Harry," he said in a patronizing tone. "It was evident to any who knew to look. I believe that when I met my demise, you were already well on your way toward the miracle of a Soul Bond. Your saving Miss Weasley's life her first year and your actions in the Ministry last year, where you also inadvertently saved her again, undoubtedly strengthened your Bond. I take it that you have found that your Bond exists in this timeline as well?"

I swallowed, nodding and remembering saving Molly the night before. "Sort of. Is it possible for the Bond to get confused and connect with someone else instead?" Molly gasped, the implications of what I was asking finally becoming clear.

Albus's image stilled for a long moment. "Alas, such a thing has been recorded. Myrridin, whom you know as Merlin, and his twin sister, Ganieda, shared a Bond that became confounded by the former's repeated time travel. As I understand it, after one particularly eventful journey, it settled upon Morgana instead, an event which led to difficulty for all parties involved. May I ask who is the lucky recipient of your Bond?"

"Um, Mrs. Weasley," I said quietly.

For the first time in the several years I'd known the man, he threw his head back and laughed deeply, a long, rumbling belly laugh. Great. Santa in pink paisley, mocking my pain.

Molly started to rage, her mind-speech every bit as loud as her real voice. I blocked her as well as I could, but I couldn't hear Dumbledore's voice over the din. "Mrs. Weasley, please, I'm trying to get answers here!"

"...was most unfortunate. Sadly, it led Myrridin to take his own life..."

I blinked. Molly gasped, then started shouting again.

"Molly!" I yelled in my head. "If you want to throw yourself under the Knight Bus, fine. Be my guest. But if you'd just shut the bloody hell up, I might be able to learn something here!"

"Why I never! I ought to..."

I cut her off by sending an image of Ginny's bum, post coitus. I felt her withdraw, retching.

"You are a sick, sick man, Harry Potter," she seethed as her consciousness slid as far from mine as she could manage.

"...modest library in my chambers, you'll find a definitive reference on magical bonds, including Soul Bonds. Unfortunately, not much is known of this type of magic, as those in a Soul Bond often find they lack a common point of reference with those not in such a bond."

"Thank you sir. I'm sure it will come in handy."

"You will find what you seek in there, if anywhere," he said, starting to chuckle again. "Oh Harry, one other thing, if you don't mind. Now that Voldemort is dead, I would consider it a personal favor if you could ask Severus to speak with me at his earliest convenience."

"Yeah, about that, sir..."

"You killed Professor Snape." It was a statement, not a question--the man always had an uncanny ability to read my expressions.

"It wasn't intentional! I sort of had to kill all of Voldemort's Inner Circle."

He sighed and pursed his lips. "Very well. I believe we're finished here. Good day. I must retire." He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

"Sir?"

"Good day, Harry."

As I gathered the tome, I couldn't help but notice that I hadn't gotten a chance to talk with him about Tom.

* * *

The next few weeks were busy, though surprisingly boring. I attended my Order of Merlin ceremony and saw a stiffly formal Hermione off on holiday with her parents. I filled out a bunch of paperwork at the Ministry that absolved me from prosecution for destroying Tom and his Death Eaters. Then, I sat for photographs of shaking hands with the Minister and other VIP, suffered a few press conferences, made bland speeches about unity and the need to rebuild our world, and dealt with a torrent of mail, much of it from unattached (and some attached) witches who mistakenly though I had a Knut to my name. Tom amused himself by noting how many of the witches he had "known" in his youth. He was particularly keen on our following up on one proposition that involved a ménage à trois with Cho Chang and her Great Aunt Pei.

For my part, I balanced the next few weeks between studying to retake my N.E.W.T.s and translating Albus's text to become the world's expert on magical bond esoterica--Tom's knowledge of runes helped here. Molly spent the time driving me insane with her endless fretting over Bill's and Fleur's wedding. I offered her the services of Kreacher, whose dry wit I'd come to appreciate, but she was having none of it. Instead, I got to put up with a housewife humming Cestina Warbuck songs as she dusted shelves of preserves in the cellar. Hey, someone might look!

After a long conversation, during which I convinced Molly that I did, indeed, love Gin, we arrived at an agreement of sorts, where we'd work together, try not to aggravate the other, and not tell anyone else about our Bond until she or I could figure out what do do about it. Fortunately for me, Molly stopped being intimate with her husband--I guess she was put off by the voyeurism. Arthur wasn't taking it well though, judging by the flowers he kept buying Molly, and I felt a little guilty. But not enough that I wanted a repeat of that morning. I mean, I loved the man like a dad, not an uncle.

The worst part by far was watching Colin court my wife. He apparently passed the "brother test" with flying colors--after Bill removed the blocks on all their memories, they took a more liberal stance on whom Ginny chose to date, "not Harry" becoming the main desideratum. That Gin was far stronger physically and magically than the diminutive photographer didn't hurt either. For his part, Colin offered to photograph the wedding, which even brought him into Molly's good graces.

Late one evening, a few days before the wedding, Molly was interrupted from scrubbing the underside of the sink by a loud "bang" outside. I leaped from my bed, wand in hand, and prepared to Apparate to the Burrow.

"Relax, Harry. It's only the Knight Bus. Ginny and Colin are back from their date."

"Oh," I said, Tom stirring in my head and then settling back asleep. I could hear muffled voices downstairs through her ears. "Are you sure everything is okay? I could go check the perimeter--it's no trouble, really..."

I felt her smirk as she said, "Harry, I'm sure, I've done this before. I'll just give them a few minutes before I go down--enough time for a quick snog, but not for any funny business."

I sighed and slipped back into bed.

"Harry?" she asked. "Do you mind my asking why you're so hung up on Ginny? There's plenty of other girls in the world."

How could I tell her? I gathered a bundle of memories of the last time timeline, my greatest treasures, and passed them them to Molly through our link: Of how I fell in love with her daughter and my first, fumbled attempts at conversation as I pined for her. Of how I took her in my arms and we kissed for the first time in the Gryffindor Common Room. Of our long walks around the Hogwarts lake as we became the closest of friends. Of our wedding day, when I first laid eyes upon my angel, our Soul Bond reaffirming the rightness of the moment beyond question. Of our last tender embrace before I left to destroy Riddle. Of my beloved, lifeless in my arms in the midst of celebration. Of long years of loneliness, weeping over a photograph of the only woman I'd ever truly loved.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried at last, devastated.

"It's just me, Molly. It's who I am," I said, my voice cracking. Finally, someone who understood. I sent her a grateful hug through the bond.

She sniffled. "You've loved her all this time?"

"Yeah. She was more than my wife. She was my soulmate." I heard a giggle downstairs through Molly's ears. "Fat chance of that happening in this timeline though."

"Well, you two are still young." She thought for a moment. "She is, anyway. Too young, in fact, for what you are looking for."

"Huh?"

"Ginny's not even sixteen, Harry, and you're what, thirty?"

I sputtered, "I'm only a year older than she is!"

"Not where it counts, dear," she said. "You're pining after someone only half your age--you should be ashamed at yourself for looking at a fifteen year old girl that way! You really are touched in the head and not in a good way."

I heard a faint moan through Molly's ears, followed by some frustrated mumblings about difficulty working a clasp. "Oh my, look at the time! I'd better go break those two up."

For everyone's sake, I obscured our connection--I had no interest in seeing through Molly's eyes just then.

"An interesting, if diabetes-inducing story, Potter. But I still shall destroy you in the end."

"Go back to sleep, Tom."

* * *

"As you see, Mr. Potter, outstanding claims against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black have reduced your holdings to little more than the one property and a few other illiquid assets. You have a trust vault, which contains two thousand three hundred and forty two Galleons and no other monetary reserves." The ancient goblin pushed a folder across the expansive marble desk. "And, as we discussed, the Noble House of Potter was dissolved and its fortune divided among its claimants when the Head of House and sole remaining member of the family suffered the misfortune of a most untimely and tragic end."

"You mean when I died."

The goblin coughed, uncomfortable. "Yes, Mr. Potter, though we generally do not speak of it so bluntly, out of respect for the, er, survivors."

I nodded to the Goblin. This much was the same as last timeline. An accident of archaic magic and even more ancient legal precedent meant that when I was struck by the Killing Curse, it was legally equivalent to death, silly as the premise may be to modern scholars of law. Even though I'd survived, technically, in the eyes of inheritance law, I still died. The Greengrasses and Parkinsons, my distant relatives and major claimants to the Potter fortune, enjoyed handsome windfalls while I was sent to be locked in a cupboard for reasons having as much to do with financial expediency as personal safety. It's part of why I couldn't really hate Albus--with Sirius out of the picture, he didn't have much choice where to place me growing up.

I took the documents and concluded our meeting with the customary Goblin platitude, "Thank you, Skullrutter. May thy coffers fill with thine enemies' fingerbones and daughters' dowries."

Skullrutter grinned, exposing rows of dark, serrated teeth, his face lit up at finding a client apprised of Goblin custom. "And you, Harry Potter, may thine heir's dagger blood itself first not in thy back, but in thine enemy's."

I made a fist with my right hand and pounded it heavily upon his desk. "And may thine enemies tremble before thee. And may their wives break their hips from thine own powerful pelvic thrusts!"

Skullrutter stood, eyes wide, and leered at me. "And may the life blood of thine enemies flow in champagne fountains at thine exclusive Country Club during the wedding reception of thy first born daughter!"

I leaped upon the desk and roared, "And may thy chiropractor learn his weirding ways from a gentle and at least moderately competent instructor! And may he keep his fingernails trimmed!" I kicked the Goblin hard in the face, splitting his lip.

He staggered to his feet, spit blood upon the floor, and flourished a blackened scimitar. "And may thy love interest keep an open mind in the bedroom!" He swatted me hard on the left shin with the flat of the blade. "And may he or she swallow when called upon!" He struck the other shin.

I withstood his blows with quiet stoicism--Goblin etiquette is not so much about the words exchanged as one's composure; to make a sound would be the gravest of insults. We glared at one another in silence for several seconds, then relaxed.

"Good day then." I stepped down.

"Good day to you, Mr. Potter. And Happy Birthday."

Give them credit--Goblins don't get much work done, but they have a hell of a lot of fun doing it.

* * *

"Harry, dear, why don't you stop this silly Auror nonsense and come live with us at the Burrow? We can't offer you much money, but you are welcome to stay with us and help with the wedding preparations, at least. I'll have a talk with the boys and get them to stop harassing you until school starts."

Molly and I were on much better terms after I'd volunteered two days of my time helping her, Fleur and Apolline, Fleur's mother, fit dress robes and, to my horror, bridesmaids' gowns. I'd wanted to get back into the family's good graces and they'd needed someone whose brain wouldn't turn to fuzz at having two Veela, emotional and not entirely in control of their auras, pinning and tucking and measuring inseams and the like. It seemed a good idea at the time, though I didn't think I'd ever get the polyjuice taste out of my mouth, nor get over how disconcerting it was turning into a menstruating Ginny.

"I don't really need Hogwarts, Molly, and I couldn't cover the tuition fee anyway."

"Moreover, wench, to slave for you and your expansive brood would be an insult beyond tolerance," Tom added from the recesses of my mind, braving exposure to Molly for the first time. Apparently, he was still flying high from some of the potions they'd administered earlier as part of my Auror testing.

"Harry! Who is that?"

I sent him the mental equivalent of a glare. "An alter-ego or sorts. Don't mind him."

He sneered back at us and muttered something about the indignity of sharing space with a mental cripple and a nitwitted house elf.

"Wha-what?"

"Tom, be nice," I said, hoping to deflect the blow-up. "Molly, I'm a grown man who wants to make his own way in the world. You and Arthur, whom I love and look up to as surrogate parents, wouldn't respect me otherwise."

"You, you think of me as a mother?" she asked, touched, then her mood soured as Tom snickered at us. "Harry, your alter-ego, this Tom, is extremely rude."

"Tom was my birth name, you knot-headed ignoramus. I despise it like I did my Muggle father and blood traitors such as you. I should rightfully be called Lord..."

"Enough! Tom, why don't you leave us for awhile." I gave him a not-so-subtle mental shove in the direction of the Umbridge room. He got the point and scuttled away.

"Lord Whatsit?" Molly asked.

"Lord Tom," I said quickly, grateful that the door opened before me, providing a distraction.

Jacques Leveque, Assistant Department Head in charge of of Auror recruiting, gestured me into his narrow office and beckoned for me to sit upon a worn chair facing his desk. The round-faced man pushed aside a few strands of straw-coloured hair and glanced at the folder he had been handed by his assistant. As he leafed through the pages, his eyes widened.

"Mr. Potter, I must say that it's truly an honor to meet you. Like all in the Department, I've viewed your memories of the final battle with You-Know-Who and I believe I speak for all of us by saying that we're highly impressed. Your N.E.W.T. scores are outstanding, especially considering you took them a year early, and I don't believe we've ever seen a candidate with perfect marks on his entrance examination."

His assistant, a squat man with a dark, pencil mustache, leaned down to whisper something in his supervisor's ear.

"Bloody unbelievable!" he exclaimed, studying the paper in his hands more closely. "You sat for the Auror exit examination and aced it? Robbins, this can't possibly be true."

The smaller, effeminate man nodded. "It is, sir. He finished the course in record time, too. I think we could partner him with one of the senior Aurors as early as next week and begin his field training."

I cracked an innocent smile, one which caused Tom to sneer in my head. "I always wanted to be an Auror, sir. I guess studying hard and preparing to fight Voldemort paid off." Tom scoffed and Molly clucked at him in my head. I couldn't help but smirk inwardly—I figured that having a decade of experience as "top dog" Auror shouldn't hurt my chances at making the Corps.

"That it did, son, that it did. Well, we just have one last thing, a formality really."

"Oh?"

"You need to sit for a psychological examination and security questionnaire. Robbins here will escort you to Madame Stitchcrown, our resident Mind Healer." My apprehension must have showed because he continued, "Really, son, don't worry. It's just a formality and you'll get the antidote to the Veritaserum straight away." He added, chuckling, "I mean, about the only thing that would disqualify you would be if you are hearing voices inside your head or something."

Lovely.

* * *

Madame Stitchcrown, an ancient crone with skin and hair the color of cherry cola vomit--from some kind of spell accident, I hoped--seated herself across from me and watched as my body became slack from the influence of the magical truth serum.

"Comfortable, Mr. Potter?" she croaked.

"Yes, mostly," I intoned, slightly disoriented.

"Alrighty, let's begin. Are ye now or have ye ever been a member o' the Communist Party?"

"Huh?"

"Standard boilerplate on all o' Her Majesty's employment questionnaires. Just answer the question."

"No ma'am."

"To the best of your knowledge, do ye house, co-habitate, or associate closely with a member o' the Communist Party."

"No." Tom prodded me in my mind. "Hold on a second--let me think."

He admitted sheepishly, "Back in the War, I joined the Party to infiltrate and organize the resistance to the Dark Lord Grindelwald."

"Bloody hell, Tom! She said 'to the best of your knowledge.' Why'd you have to tell me this? Now I have to tell her!"

"Harry, language!" Molly said, scandalized. You'd think, with six boys and a daughter who, when upset, curses like a Goblin sapper, the matron would have built up a tolerance.

"You believe that you're the only one affected by the Veritaserum, Potter?" He grumbled, "I still cannot fathom how a nincompoop like you ever managed to defeat me."

"Mr. Potter?" the examiner asked.

"You fought against Grindelwald, Lord Tom?" Molly asked, impressed. "Harry, how is it that your alter-ego is over seventy years old?"

"It's a long story, Molly. You see..."

"Damn and blast, Potter, just tell her already! Idiotic woman, I'm Lord Voldemort!"

"Harry!" Molly yelled in my mind. In reality too, as back at the Burrow, she belted out to her family at the luncheon table, "You're possessed by You-Know-Who!" Yep, that'll help me with Gin and her brothers.

"Calm down, Molly. I'm not possessed." My voice trailed off. "More like, er, merged. I'm a horcrux."

"And you didn't think to bring this up before now? I can't believe I'm sharing a Soul Bond with a schizophrenic paedophile housing a Dark Lord in his head!" At least she only shouted this in her head--luncheon conversation at the Burrow had already turned awkward at her earlier outburst.

"Molly, please..." I said.

"Ferme la bouche, you knock-headed boob!"

"Well, I never." She swatted him in my mind--I didn't even know you could do that! "Dark Lord or no, I will not stand for such rudeness, speaking of my bosom like that in that dreadful language!"

I stepped between them, metaphorically speaking--there must be more tension with Fleur and her family than I was aware of. "French is a lovely language, Molly, and I'm quite certain that Tom wasn't talking about your enormous, well proportioned tits." Truth serum to the rescue!

"Harry!" she scolded, then smacked me through our bond, causing me to yelp in pain, both in my head and in the examination room. "You're not supposed to notice! It's bad enough that I fantasize about you when I touch myself..." She did the mental equivalent of covering her mouth with her hands.

"Well, they are expansive and surprisingly well proportioned, wench, one of your few redeeming qualities. In truth, though you are approaching middle age, I do not hesitate to view your impressive bust whenever the opportunity arises." Tom added, not to be outdone in his Veritaserum confessionals.

"I use a lightening charm on them daily--I didn't want to sag," she added. Shocked at what she said, she turned back to Tom and struck him repeatedly. "I expect you to learn some manners, Mr. You-Know-Who!"

"Mr. Potter? Is something the matter?" My examiner asked again, impatient.

I cleared my throat, trying in vain to tune out the duo, who were shouting at one another. "Um, nothing, nothing's wrong, ma'am. I do house, sort of, someone who used to be a member of the Communist Party. But he's dead now."

"A ghost?"

"More like a spirit. He's mostly harmless and hasn't tried to indoctrinate me. Not as a Communist anyway."

"Okay...." She scribbled a note on a parchment.

The magical drug impelled me to babble on. "But the other voice inside my head is harmless." I winced as Molly struck at Tom, but missed and hit me instead. "Mostly harmless. Except when she's upset."

* * *

I blinked, the fog in my head lifting as the buttery-tasting antidote melted on my tongue. I flexed my mental shields back into place and regarded the two quiet entities in my head.

"Um," I said.

"So," Tom said.

Molly cleared her throat. "About that," she said.

"Yeah about that," I said.

"Perhaps..." Tom started.

"Can we not speak of this again?" Molly said quickly, with a blush that we all felt.

The Mind Healer ambled into the examination room and seated herself across from me.

"Feeling better now, Mr. Potter?"

I nodded.

"I've reviewed your results from the examination and I'm terribly sorry..." she said, shaking her head.

"Ma'am?"

"She fidgeted with her knobby hands. "I'm grateful for your service, I am at that. But ye failed--worst I seen in years. Merlin's knobby staff, if you weren't a hero, I'd recommend we chuck ye into the bughouse with your noggin touched as it is." She took a deep breath, then coughed violently, her breath smelling of cabbages. "I'm afraid the only government job ye can safely hold in your condition is Hogwarts Professor. I can put in a good word with my grand-niece, Minnie, if ye like, maybe get ye the Defense position they never can fill...."

"Me? The Defense Professor at Hogwarts?" I sat back into my chair, stunned. When I was younger, I'd dreamed of such an opportunity.

She nodded, her wide smile showing all three of her teeth. Tom chuckled in my mind, reminded of his own interview for the job, then hid as Molly bustled to the fore, her booming alto drowning out all other thought. "Harry, I really think you should take her offer. You'd make a lovely Professor."

I shrugged her off and turned to the Mind Healer, my voice strained, "I... I'm not sure what to say..." Actually I did. "_Obliviate_."

Molly's mammaries--no way was I going through life as a teacher.

* * *

A/N: The "hairy ball" theorem is real. Google it.

Again, thanks to Alpha Fight Club for their help hammering the prose into shape. See chapter 1 for disclaimer


	4. Strippers at Weddings

Thanks to BajaB and Nukular Winter for the pub names. And to all the folks at Alpha Fight Club for their help. See chapter 1 for disclaimer.

* * *

Chapter 4: Weddings and Strippers and Strippers at Weddings

* * *

"Harry dear, can you please take this chair out to the lawn, copy it about thirty times, and set them up over by the gondola? The Minister's secretary just Flooed and he's bringing press coverage. I don't want them disturbing our guests."

"Sure, Mrs. Weasley," I said to her back as she rushed off. I'd been helping Molly for the past two hours. Her "perfect" sons, apparently still sleeping off the effects of Bill's stag night, were in no shape to help out.

Since the awkwardness of my Auror screening, Molly and I had been on more amicable, if somewhat more formal. To my surprise, she'd even dropped an oblique hint about how I may not have been as bad as she'd thought and that she wouldn't mind seeing Ginny and me back together. This was looking less likely with time, however. Ginny would be at Hogwarts next year, while I'd be off hunting Death Eaters: not the best recipe for a relationship. Perhaps I should have taken the Defense position after all.

I smoothed the front of my Auror dress blues, an old habit, and patted the breast pocket where I'd stashed my medals to avoid catching them on things as I helped out. I'd have to be a little careful, though. The uniform was charmed to resist spells—it would blunt a cutting curse, after all—but that also meant that it couldn't be Scourgified.

"Your first day off in two weeks and you spend it as a House Elf. Congratulations, Auror Potter. My already low opinion of you has fallen considerably, something I didn't think possible."

"Stuff it, Tom. The closer we are, the better I can suss out what's wrong with the Bond and find a way to undo it." It was true—of late, when Molly and I were nearby, our connection was almost tangible, a spongy warmth every bit as strong as the one I'd shared with Gin just before the final battle last time around. That it'd progressed this far this fast didn't bode well for separation, but I wasn't about to admit it to myself—or anyone else, for that matter.

Tom sneered. "Yes, yes. The 'Harry Potter Master Plan.' I'm quite familiar with it."

"You don't think it'll work?" I pushed through the door to the backyard and walked down the stairs, noting the polished buckles on the Wellies lining the steps. Molly had really outdone herself. A lesser woman would have simply moved the boots out of sight rather than clean them and leave them in place.

"Of course not. When was the last time you actually succeeded at a complex piece of magic?"

I duplicated the chair in my hand and heard a deep rumble in the distance. It didn't look like the weather would hold.

"Let's see—I believe I did a nice spot of transfiguration awhile back. Perhaps you recall?" I created another chair.

"Touché. I was referring to something subtle, requiring actual skill and not just brute force."

"Well, there was the time travel thing..."

"And how's that working out for you?" he said as he retreated from my forebrain. In my mind, I conjured a curtain between us. It was a largely symbolic gesture, but it would at least give the pretext of privacy. Of late, Tom was keeping more to himself anyway. While I was a little concerned what he was doing in the nether regions of my noggin, I honestly didn't mind the quiet.

I sensed someone approaching, so I pushed some extra magic into the spell and did a quick, twenty-fold duplication. With a twisting wand motion, the chairs levitated them into place and I looked up to see an impeccably dressed Veela whose subtle hip sashay was a magnet for any male's eyes, mine included. Apolline. Bill was lucky. Judging by her mother's appearance, Fleur was sure to age well.

"'Arry!" she said, affecting a frosty, perfect smile and gesturing to my chairs. "Impressive magic."

"Madame Delacour." I said, bowing and kissing her hand.

"Again, call me Apolline. You are recovered from ze cramps?" She arched a flawless, white-blonde eyebrow, then became serious just as quickly . "'Arry, zere is something I must discuss with you regarding Gabrielle."

"Ma'am?"

"My youngest, she is quite taken with you, which is very bad at this time." Seeing my confusion, she continued, "What do you know about Veela, 'Arry?"

"A little, but apparently not enough. Care to enlighten me?"

"Ze--what is ze word--puberty for a Veela is most difficult and Gabrielle is suffering it now. Ze 'ormones and ze magic together are 'orrible. At 'ogwarts, you saved her life, which made a bond between you. Unfortunately, zis bond, it means she will be also strongly attracted to you."

Lovely. Another bond. "So this means..."

"Gabrielle will not be in complete control of her faculties. Around one with magic as strong as yours, it will be a powerful aphrodisiac."

"I'm not that powerful," I temporized.

"Oh, but you are..." She reached up to stroke my face with her fingertips and my breath hitched. She continued in a husky whisper, "And it affects more than just Gabrielle." I breathed in her perfume and my heart started to race. She and Fleur had made a game out of flirting with me the other day, using their Veela power to its fullest to see who could enthrall me, and at the same time annoy Molly, the most. I blinked, reinforcing my Occlumency, and the effect diminished somewhat, though my trousers still felt a little tight.

"Tease," I grumbled as her light blue eyes shined with mirth.

"Zis matter, it will be more acute the closer she is to you, so I ask if you could remain a distance from her when possible."

"I'll do my best, ma'am." I felt a breath of tiny drops in the moist summer air.

"Please do. Though Gabrielle appears to be fond of Molly, following her like a kitten, it would be regrettable if she were to make a scene with you, 'Arry." Her hand was on my forearm and I tensed as she placed a lingering kiss on my cheek. "Do be gentle--she is quite fragile. Young 'earts, zey break easy, _non_?" She turned and my eyes followed her back to the Burrow as I worked at bringing my heartbeat down to something less than faerie-on-pepper-up speed.

I arranged cream and silver ribbons along the edges of the block of chairs while in my head Molly bellowed at a somnambulant Fred, who had apparently mixed a batch of hangover potion on the stove and made a mess of things.

My sense of danger piqued. I heard a high-pitched growl, like that of a kneezle, and readied my wand. A half-second later, a yellow chiffon missile emerged from beneath an invisibility cloak and crashed into my chest, blowing me backwards off my feet. Clever fingers, trained by a thousand generations of evolution, worked the fasteners on my clothing. Before we reached the ground my robes were splayed open and my trousers were tugged down to my knees. My back landed in the moist ground with a quiet 'splut' as a diminutive, barely-pubescent veela straddled my waist and rocked her hips firmly against mine. I thanked the fates that my boxers were still on—I was quite sure that she wasn't wearing knickers.

With a snarl, Gabrielle's tiny hands buried in my hair, drawing my face to hers. I elbowed the ground beside me and turned us over so that I was on top, but I couldn't pull us apart. In transit, her legs locked around my waist and a hot, prehensile tongue snaked between my teeth and wrapped around mine, seizing it tight. As my mind processed the possibilities, I felt a surge of Veela magic, primal, filled with youthful lust, an almost palpable cloud of desire.

Her desire, not mine. Ginny may have strained my moral compass, but Gabrielle took a _Reducto_ to it.

I turned my wand onto her and started to vocalize a stunner as I heard a female voice behind me.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

A slender ray of violet struck me and I felt my body go rigid, rolling off of the tiny girl. Gabrielle sat up with a frustrated shriek and then started to wail. Hermione, deeply tanned and just back from holiday, loomed over us, her arms akimbo.

"Harry James Potter! Just what do you think you were doing with this poor girl, taking advantage of her like this?"

I could only blink. Did she really expect a response?

My best friend continued to lecture as she smoothed and restored the girl's dress and pulled her into a hug, sending a seething glare over her shoulder. Some time later, Hermione stood and led Gabrielle, now a sniffling portrait of innocence, back to the Burrow, leaving me laying in the grass, exposed, near the press corps seats.

I heard guests start to arrive in the distance. Bloody hell.

Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, Tom poked his head through the curtain and laughed at my predicament. "The half-breed whelp was more woman than you could handle. Why am I not surprised?"

I grumbled, my anger giving me the focus to break Hermione's hex. I just managed to slide up my trousers as Bozo rushed over with his camera. I flashed him a cheeky grin and pumped my fist in triumph.

As if in answer, it started to rain.

* * *

The bored-looking usher sneered at my disheveled, grass-stained clothes and ignored me, addressing the couple behind me instead. As he seated them, I slipped my Order of Merlin and its French equivalent over my neck. He returned and his eyes widened.

"Monsieur Potter, my apologies for not recognizing you." He bowed deeply. Short, with a pear-shaped body and a smarmy, pinched face set in a permanent squint, Fleur's cousin Pierre wasn't the kind of guy I enjoyed dealing with, but it beat enduring Ron's complaints about being an usher and not a groomsman like his brothers.

"Friend of ze bride or ze groom?" he said, bowing obsequiously.

Let's see. Accused of having my wicked ways with the groom's little sister versus the bride's?

"Bride, please. Back row's fine." While neither family had heard of deodorant, Fleur's at least recognized the concept of bathing. Besides, Remus was alone over on the Weasley side and I didn't want to get stuck having to talk to him. Instead, I chatted up Madame Maxime, who was seated in front of me and who, I was surprised to learn had a seemingly endless supply of double entendres and bawdy jokes.

"Wotcher, handsome!" chirped a voice I knew well from my day job.

"Tonks?"

"This seat taken, love?" she asked, sliding next to me. Maxime winked at me and engaged the man next to her in a private joke.

"It's yours if you want it. You're not..."

"Sitting with the fur-ball? Nah, he's got a case of the mopes. You know, nothing to do now that the Dark Tosser ain't around… Thought I'd come over here to chat up a dashing Auror instead. Congrats, by the way, on making us all look bad—course record your first time through? Look out for Danner and Jimmy, by the way—jealous twinks'll try hazing you or something equally suicidal." She flicked some grass off the back of my robe. "So, a tumble in the hay already? Who's the lucky lady--anyone I know?"

"Ugh." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Long story, but there's no lady in my life, lucky or otherwise, thanks."

Tonks grinned playfully. "You and the Weasley girl, not an item, then?"

I shook my head. "She's seeing someone else. See the photographer?"

"Scrawny kid with the zits?"

"The one."

She whistled. "No accounting for taste, eh? Speaking of..." The metamorphmagus's hair turned red and freckles dusted her pale skin. "I can kinda tell yours. Fancy hanging with an older woman for the day? Unlike Miss Bat Snot, I can even give you juicy Auror gossip...." She slid under my arm and leaned her head conspicuously on my shoulder as the music became louder and the procession started up the aisle.

Ginny glared as she passed and I waved in return. I'll admit to feeling a little vindicated at her reaction—maybe her feelings for me weren't completely gone after all?

"Harry, dear, who is that with you?" Molly asked in my head.

"Just Tonks. She's just playing around, trying to get a reaction out of Remus."

"Okay, just wondering... Oh dear, look out!"

Fire erupted around us as with a bestial snarl, Gabrielle launched a fireball at Tonks. I froze the orange flames before we got burned too badly and heard Apolline alternate between chastising the girl for her actions and gushing over her baby's first fireball. She hissed at Colin to make sure the event was captured on film.

Tonks and I headed back to the Burrow to clean up. I fixed what I could with my wand, but a few of the burns had already blistered, so I went off to search for salve in Molly's stores. Unfortunately, by the time I'd located some, I was treated to the sight of Tonks straddling Remus's lap in the living room, her face and body hairy like before.

I dropped the tin on the table.

It was probably just as well. Flings among Aurors never work out.

* * *

"Wasn't it the most lovely ceremony?" Molly asked in my head. The wedding party were on the floor dancing a waltz and she and Arthur were in the center of a gaggle of red- and blonde-haired couples.

"Yeah, lovely," I lied, having only caught the very end. I'd taken a few minutes to cast silencing charms on the Burrow, since I knew from having shared Number 12 for the last two weeks with the couple that Tonks was a screamer. Not particularly interested in the ceremony itself, I'd snagged a bottle of firewhiskey from one of the tables and took a walk with Moody around the perimeter to ensure that no Death Eaters were there to disrupt the ceremony. Technically, I was on duty to keep the peace anyway, so all was good.

Fred and Ginny passed by, somehow managing a shuffle in 3/4 time. Ginny caught my eye for a moment, then looked away. Behind them was Percy, being towed by a tiny witch hellbent on dancing in front of me. Gabrielle then "accidentally" raised the hem of her dress well above her knees. I caught a glimpse of her skinny thighs, then coughed, directing my gaze elsewhere.

Just then, the Minister flopped into the seat next to me, the chair groaning under his weight.

"Auror Potter," he said, his gaze falling on little Gabrielle's derriere.

"Minister."

"I see that you sent an unusual request to my office. The Transferral Room?"

"Is there a problem?"

He frowned for a moment. "It's just an unusual request, one that could have fallout if word got out. I'm still undecided on whether to grant it." He lifted a glass of champagne to his mouth, then ran a wide, lascivious tongue over thick lips as he watched the pert bum of the prepubescent witch sway in exaggerated motions.

"Fallout? How so?" I tried to ignore his behavior.

"If the public knew that their hero, the one who slew You Know Who and whom I put in charge of the Strike Force, was a practicing Necromancer, don't you think they'd find that a bit... odd? You know, new Dark Lord, that kind of thing?"

"Probably." I thought for a moment. "What would it take to change your mind? I'd be willing to swear an oath that what I have in mind isn't dark magic." It wasn't, really—soul magic of the type I wanted to do is merely borderline unethical, the kind of thing that gives most wizards the mandrake-screaming fantods.

He looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and slowly returned his gaze to Gabrielle. No way—as much as Fleur's sister annoyed me, I couldn't offer him that. "How about a press conference?"

Sharp words from Apolline told Gabrielle to leave me alone. The little girl stamped her foot and screwed up her face, blasting her immature aura as hard as she could, which caused Percy's and the Minister's mouths to drop open. Seeing that I was unaffected, Gabrielle turned in a huff, flaring her hair behind, and strutted away with her insensate partner. I nodded my thanks to Apolline, who winked at me, amused by her daughter's antics.

As he recovered his senses, the Minister sniffed. "Right. Very well, a press conference. I've an event scheduled in a few days to announce Crabtree's appointment to be Goblin Liason; let's combine it with that. Coordinate with my secretary, Auror Potter." He nodded to me, then left.

I took a sip of lukewarm Champagne as Molly hummed in my head, fluffy joy seeping through our bond.

"Everything is just so perfect," she gushed. "I just don't think anything can spoil this evening..."

The Fates, as you know, never leave such statements unchallenged.

* * *

A new waltz began and I decided on a whim to steal a dance with Gin while Colin was busy snapping photos. I strode across the dance floor toward my wife, who met my eyes and turned to go in the opposite direction. Her brothers—minus Bill, who was still dancing with Fleur, and Ron, who was arguing with Hermione--looked on warily.

"Ginny?" I called behind her.

She stopped and turned around slowly. "Harry."

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you very much." Her angry eyes didn't appear particularly forgiving.

"Would you care to dance?"

"Not particularly," she said.

"Harry!" A high-pitched voice rang out. A short, mousy-haired teenager with bad acne and a large camera jogged up to us and took a snapshot.

"Colin." I didn't relish having to deal with the sycophant.

"It's great to see you again. Ginny, you didn't tell me _Harry_ would be here... Hey, wicked medals!" He took another snapshot, this time of my chest. "This is so great—we can hang out and talk about old times!" He stood next to Ginny and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. It didn't take much imagination to figure out that with his height, his hand was on her bum.

"Old times?" I grumbled, as I saw him squeeze. Ginny started, then glared at him.

"Yeah, you know, the DA and fighting back against Umbridge? Good times, eh Harry?" He soft-punched my shoulder.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead meeting Ginny's. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there. "Yeah, good times all right.... Hey, Colin, would you mind if I had a quick dance with Ginny? I know she's your date..."

"Not at all, please do," he said, giving her a none-too-gentle push toward me. "It'll be great—I'll even take your picture."

"No!" she protested as she stumbled into my chest.

I took her hand and said in a low voice, "Just one dance, Gin, then I'll leave you alone tonight. I'm not staying long anyway—Auror stuff, you know."

Molly interrupted in my mind, "Harry? You're not staying? I thought your assignment was here..."

"It was, but I don't want to be a wet blanket—King's going to cover for me. This is your family's time to celebrate anyway."

"But you're a part of the family…" I sent her an image of the tiara Fleur wore and I could feel her wince. "True, Aunt Muriel is family too. But you understand what I'm saying, dear..."

"I might have been once, but things are different now. If it happens now, it'll need to be a new beginning." In the back of my head, Tom snickered, muttering about how much more entertaining the Lestrange reception was, with its orgy of debauchery and muggle torture.

Ginny was staring at me. "Fine, one dance. If you can keep from spacing out, that is."

As we danced, her brothers took turns glaring at me. "Look, if Colin makes you happy..."

"He does," she said, her eyes looking over my shoulder.

"That's good, I suppose."

"Yes it is, isn't it."

After another awkward pause, I stopped and took her hands, my eyes meeting hers. "Yeah, it is. What I was going to say was that if he makes you happy, I understand. I had my chance with you and thought it more important to protect you than to keep you close. Once I loved you, desperately in fact. You were my everything, Gin."

Ginny had a pensive look on her face.

"Harry!" Molly snapped, reading my thoughts. "You're giving up, just like that? What about being in love?"

"What would you have me do?"

"I know your heart. Fight. Fight for her... For yourself."

I swallowed as the realization hit me like a falling hippogryph that perhaps, despite my efforts, it was fated that I _couldn't_ get Ginny back, not in this new world, anyway. Maybe it was the change in the bond, or maybe it was Fate and her cruel sense of humor, but something clutched hold of my heart and squeezed hard.

"That Harry doesn't exist anymore," I choked out, both in my head and aloud.

Molly huffed as Tom piped in, "A wise decision, Potter. The low-born waif was beneath you. The Malfoy widow, on the other hand, would be a most advantageous match." He flashed images of Draco's mother dressed in fetish leathers.

I couldn't help but think 'flexible.'

Molly brusquely shoved the images away and hissed. "She certainly is not, Tom, and Harry should _not_ be with that scarlet woman!"

I ignored their bickering and gave my wife a sad smile.

"What are you saying?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, Harry," Molly said. I suspected some of my heartache was bleeding through the link.

I spoke to my Bond-mate in my mind. "Don't let this ruin your evening. I've got just one more thing to do—get rid of this ruddy bond—and then we can get on with our lives. I don't know if things will sort themselves out with Gin, but you said yourself that she's too young for me now. Albus—the old Albus—was right; it was a mistake coming back..."

Ginny looked confused. "You're leaving?"

In more ways than one. "Goodbye, Gin."

I kissed her cheek and walked away, leaving her alone on the dance floor. A moment later, Colin snapped a candid photo of my love staring after me, her hand on her cheek where my lips had had touched her, her eyes bright and blinking.

It was a beautiful shot, the last of Ginny in her bridesmaid's dress. A moment later, orange flames erupted about her.

"Gabrielle!"

* * *

I tried to escape the reception, but somehow it seemed that every time I managed to escape one tedious conversation, I found myself stuck in another. It didn't help that with the alcohol flowing as it was, people who would normally shy away from me were uninhibited. Finally, seeing an opportunity, I bolted for a break in the crowd in the hope of making it to the Apparition point before being pulled aside again.

Unfortunately, as soon as I'd stepped into the clear, I realized why nobody was there—in the middle was Gin's Aunt Muriel, famous for two things: her gaudy tiara and some extreme churlishness. She grabbed my arm and muttered loudly about how horrid the Potters were back in her day and how scandalous it was that I'd been spawned from the unholy union of a ruinous scion and, in her words, a "shifty-eyed Succubus Mudblood who walked funny."

To make matters worse, Hermione had stormed from the Burrow and had cornered Molly. They were having a heated discussion in my head. I nodded vaguely at the hag and tuned into the other discussion.

"What's the matter, Dear? Is Ron being himself again?" Molly asked, slurring her words—after I'd left Gin, she'd had a generous sample of the wine the Delacours had brought.

"No, it's Harry. I thought I knew him, but it's obvious now that I don't." She looked up at Molly, her eyes rimming with tears. "I know a lot is going on with him lately..." Molly gave her a knowing look. I tried to butt in, to tell her that I'd not yet shared with Hermione my time travel, but Molly shushed me as Hermione continued. "I caught Harry making... advances on someone far too young for him."

"Well, bless my soul," Molly said, smirking. "That little rascal..."

"Molly, it's not what you think," I said.

"Hush, Harry. Let me savor the moment," she said, her thoughts drifting to another family wedding, one that wouldn't require partnering with such a difficult family.

Aunt Muriel started a coughing fit and I used my multi-fighting trick to make a clone, who tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, confused, and latched onto my clone's arm, berating him for pranking her. I took the opportunity to slink away.

"Potter!" a gruff voice called. It belonged to the Minister, who motioned me over.

"Sir?"

"I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Sabrina, and my daughter, Regan." He gestured to a large woman and an equally corpulent teen-aged girl whose beady eyes reminded me of a young, female version of Dudley. I vaguely recalled she was a Hufflepuff in the class a few years below me. I dutifully kissed the pudgy hands of each as Molly's words rang in my head.

"Harry's a good boy, dear, so don't fret about that. He's is in love with her."

"What?! But she's just a child and Harry's a… a paedophile!"

"I am not a paedophile!" Bugger—I said that out loud. I cleared my throat. "I mean, I'm very honored to meet you both."

Sabrina huffed loudly as Regan stood by, her mouth open in shock.

"Right then," the Minister said, shooting me a glare and putting an arm around his wife. "Carry on, Potter. Come dear, Regan."

"Of course you're not, dear," Molly said in her mind, then turned to Hermione. "I realize he's almost twice her age, but I also know that deep down Harry loves her dearly and would do anything for her, especially after saving her life. And isn't that what matters in the end?"

Hermione just opened her mouth, speechless.

"Nothing is ever easy with Harry, that rascal. But trust me, his feelings for her are genuine and who are we to stand in the way of true love?" She gave Hermione a hug, then asked conspiratorially, "Tell me, did she seem to feel the same for him?"

With a shiver, Hermione nodded.

"You're an only child, dear, and muggle-raised at that, so you may not know this, but weddings have their own special magic that brings out certain feelings, particularly in younger sisters. Why, I remember when I was her age at Gideon's wedding...." Molly sighed wistfully. "Out under the stars, it was the first time that Arthur and I made love." Molly looked at Hermione and patted her arm. "Never mind, dear."

"I think I need a drink," Hermione said, grabbing a glass of wine from a tray and draining it in one go.

* * *

Resigned to being unable to escape, I took another sip from my bottle and watched in detached amusement as Ron and Hermione continued their shouting match two tables down. Their row had flared up over most of the day, but it had come to a head with the addition of alcohol—Hermione was working on her second bottle and was shouting and gesticulating. From the looks of things, the crowd was also amused—they were drunkenly cheering each point and counterpoint.

Fortunately, my scowl, honed and perfected for a decade, was keeping anyone but my old friend, Ogden's Finest, from interrupting my thoughts, among them the fact that Gin had disappeared into the Burrow an hour before for burn salve and a different dress.

Colin had joined her. Bastard.

BZZZZT!

A loud buzzing accompanied a crackle of lightning as a small girl was hurled onto her back in front of me. She sat up, her skin lightly blackened and her white-blonde hair standing on end, as she cursed loudly in French. I couldn't help but grin—at least with the Age Line ward, something was going my way tonight.

She wailed, "Mama..." and ran off, her face in her hands.

I looked up, slightly buzzing from the liquor myself, and saw Ron approach, his hands balled into fists. In the distance, Hermione flounced away in a huff.

"Trouble in paradise?" I drawled.

He grabbed the front of my robes. "Bloody hell, mate! We were supposed to take off school next year and go after the Dark Tosser's Horcruxes together. Now I'm going to have to go back to Hogwarts and take N.E.W.T.s and... and everything! You're such a selfish shit, Harry, going off and hogging all the glory like that."

"Uh," I said, eloquently.

"I mean, now you're a bloody hero again and I'm what, just the sidekick who wasn't even there for the final battle? I would have had your back, mate. Your back! Couldn't you've at least shared the glory, maybe let me score an Order or Merlin or job at the Ministry?"

"Look, Ron," I pushed him back, hoping to calm him down. No such luck—Hermione's words had him going full steam.

"Noooo! You have to be all 'I'm bloody Harry Potter--I'll go kill Voldemort on my own and leave Ron behind.' Selfish twat...." He took a swing at me, a badly telegraphed roundhouse that I dodged easily.

"Calm down, mate. Nobody wants to get hurt..."

"Nobody wants themselves to get hurt, but I wouldn't mind seeing Plucky Perfect Potter pushed down a peg..." Fred said smugly, having somehow managed to sneak up behind me.

"I'll hold him, Ronnikins if you want your shot," George said, crackling his knuckles behind me.

I closed my eyes and created a clone behind them, who reached up and cracked their heads together, causing the two to crumple to the dirt. Dispelling the doppleganger, I raised an eyebrow at Ron, who stepped back, no longer as sure of himself. I made a couple of Portkeys out of paper napkins and dropped them on the twins, transporting them to their shop.

"Harry?" Molly asked in my head. "Where'd you send my boys?"

"Home. They had a little too much Firewhiskey."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she answered, then with a drunken grin pulled her husband into a spontaneous tongue kiss in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone under age forty promptly turned away.

"Bleah, some warning next time?" I said, reaching for the firewhiskey to get the taste out of my mouth.

Grumbling, Ron turned to leave, then stopped, asking loudly enough for his voice to carry to the entire reception, "Did you really bugger my sister, Potter?"

* * *

BZZZZT!

Gabrielle, screamed in frustration as she plopped yet again onto the soft ground just outside the Age Line. Ron's broom clattered down beside her. I gave her points for creativity—it was much better than her last try, which entailed jumping off the adjacent table into the wards.

The door to the Burrow banged shut as Ginny, now in a dark green dress, its buttons undone to her navel and one of the shoulder straps down about her elbow, stomped down the stairs and away from the house. Colin tailed behind, fastening his robes and pleading with her. She made a beeline toward me.

"Harry James Potter!" she yelled, showcasing the discretion that Weasleys are famous for.

"Gin?" I asked, aware that everyone was now watching us.

"Am I desirable?" She stopped and stood facing me, her hands on her hips.

"Um, yes?" I didn't add that I didn't find it quite as flattering when she was in a towering rage.

She turned on the shorter wizard following her. "See!"

"I just asked a question, that's all," Colin said, trying to placate her.

"Prat!" She slapped him hard across the face and stormed off.

Colin, holding his hand to his cheek, watched her walk away, then noticed me. "Harry! Can I ask your advice on something?" he asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Depends what that something is. If it has to do with Ginny, then hell no."

I sat at the table next to my bottle and he followed, positioning himself across from me and causing me to curse myself for not setting the Age Line threshold a year or two higher. "Well, you see, Ginny and I were, you know, inside. Some heavy snogging and stuff, maybe leading to something more." I could have done without the eyebrow waggle. "And then I started touching her... down there." He pointed toward his crotch in an indiscrete way and I was painfully aware of the several sets of eyes still on us.

I replied, "Are you an idiot? I said I don't want to talk about Ginny! Now leave before I kick your..."

He continued, as if not hearing me, "...And it wasn't like Parvati's or Lavender's at all. Or even like Cho's. I was confused at first, but then I realized what it was. I asked her if she was a virgin."

I cocked an eyebrow, debating whether to curse him into oblivion or ask how in the world he had managed to bed three of the most desirable witches in Hogwarts. I gritted my teeth. "And?"

He turned glum. "And she said that she was, but she didn't mind if that changed."

"And this is a bad thing because..."

"Well, you weren't with her."

I coughed. "I respected Ginny too much to push things until we both were ready."

He ignored the slight. "But you don't understand. _You_, Harry Potter, hadn't been with her first."

Jezebel's Jugs! Did he mean... "So, she'd be more attractive to you if I had slept with her first?"

Colin rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah."

I clenched my fist and said, "Let me get this straight. You were attracted to Gin because you thought she was with me first?"

"Exactly!"

There was a long, awkward pause while I debated the relative merits of putting a Dark Mark on his arm myself and then following with a Killing Curse. The spell actually wasn't hard, just a modified Protean charm, and as head of the newly formed Auror Special Strike Force, I had carte blanche to hunt down marked Death Eaters. I looked down and noticed a handbag on the ground a few tables over that was bunny-hopping toward us.

In the end, discretion won out—I'd promised Molly I'd behave tonight, which meant killing her photographer was discouraged. I took a deep breath. "Do you know anything about Ginny? Like what her favorite color is, or her favorite food?"

He shrugged.

"Green and strawberry shortcake. Can you even say what you like most about her?"

"Aside from the fact that you dated her?" I glared at him. "Um, I don't know. I guess she's got a nice arse." Colin was pensive for awhile. "Hey, I know, maybe you can have a go with her first, then I can? It'd be almost the same, right?"

That did it—self control was gone. I blasted him out of his seat.

I growled in my head, "You catch any of that, Molly?"

A moment later, she answered. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." She took in the scene through my eyes. "Oh dear, is everything okay?" It figures, the one time I want her listening in, she isn't.

"What's your problem?" Colin asked, sitting up and nursing an injured shoulder, his face scrunched with hurt. A small crowd gathered around us, including Arthur, Charlie, and the twins, who had recovered and Apparated back to the shindig. Ginny, apparently over her anger from before, rushed to help her injured boyfriend.

"Harry, you've had enough to drink; I think it's time you went home," Arthur said in a quiet voice, sliding the bottle away from me.

"Sorry, sir. I just felt that someone should defend Ginny's honor. This prat sure as hell wasn't going to..." Ginny glared at me and positioned herself between Colin and me.

Colin's face reddened. He pushed her off and stood, drawing his wand. "Harry Potter, I challenge you to a duel!"

There were gasps all around.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A duel. I challenge you!" He looked a mixture between offended and eager and I realized with chagrin that he was probably hoping for such an opportunity, no doubt as part of some perverse fantasy involving us. Seamus's stories about catching him in the shower wanking to a photo of me didn't seem so farfetched anymore.

I snorted and said, "I don't think so. I really don't enjoy kicking puppies. Besides, you're underage." The possessed handbag bobbed closer.

Colin straightened himself up to his full height, which wasn't especially fearsome, and placed a hand on the small of Ginny's back. "By the Accord of Catherwood, I challenge you!" A faint, purple glow surrounded him and Ginny.

The little punk had done his homework—he'd invoked a loophole that allowed for honor duels to protect a maiden's honor and, technically, Ginny was still a maiden. As ancient law, it superseded the Reasonable Restriction Against Underaged Wizardry.

"You do know I killed Voldemort, right?" I muttered, ignoring the collective shudder at the Dark Lord's name. The drunken crowd recovered and egged us on. "Fine, let's get this over with. Choose your second."

Arthur sighed, recognizing that there was little he could do, and motioned for us to follow in the direction of the pitch where we'd played Quidditch during my summers at the Burrow. From his occasional stumbles, I could tell he'd had his share of wine too.

Just as we left the reception, an anguished scream pierced the night air. I turned to see that Gabrielle had finally made it past my age line, having ensconced herself within a handbag with an engorging charm on it, and had hopped across the ward, only to find that by then I'd left and she was now trapped inside.

A bottle of firewhiskey flew towards me—Gabrielle had hurled it—and I levitated it to my hand. It'd be a shame to waste good liquor.

We gathered on the meadow. The Weasleys were all present, except Bill, whose dance card was still filled with Veela, the poor guy, and Ron, who was off somewhere with Hermione, probably having mad makeup monkey sex. Molly stayed back at the reception, content to watch through my eyes, and she tutted to me in my head not to kill the poor boy, that it wouldn't help me win Gin's heart. Colin, Viktor, and I were also there. Vik had offered to be my second after Charlie agreed to be Colin's. Moody and Kingsley, after sending the last of the press away, positioned themselves on the edge of the pitch to keep the others from gathering for the spectacle.

I stood across from my adversary and affected a bored look while Ginny rubbed his shoulders and continued to glare at me. Somehow, with the challenge Colin had wormed back into her good graces, as if the earlier drama were somehow my fault. Whatever. While I was honest enough to realize I still loved her, I couldn't help but think that my wife was a right pain in the arse sometimes.

"Vill be killing boy?" the Seeker asked, cracking a smile for the first time.

"I think you should," Tom said. "It'll serve notice to your enemies to avoid such frippery in the future. I used the same technique to good effect back in 1947."

I shrugged. "I hope not. It'd be too much paperwork."

"Pity," Tom and Viktor chorused.

"I am looking to embarrass him though."

Charlie was whispering advice to Colin as Viktor lamented, "Vat's vith party? No single vomen. Thought Weela vedding good place to pick up chicks."

"I hear you, mate." I pulled the cork from the bottle with my teeth and spat it out, then offered it to him. He took a long drink and handed it back.

"Her-mi-o-ne vith Veasley?"

"Yeah. They were fighting, which I think is some kind of foreplay thing for them." I took a swallow, then passed the bottle back to Vik.

He nodded. "You hold liquor, vill make good drinking partner tonight."

"I'm drinking for three," I said. He gave me a confused look. "Never mind."

Tom burped in my mind, mumbled something unintelligible, then started to snore as the alcohol hit him. A side-effect of all the rituals he'd done to gain power was that his tolerance to alcohol had become virtually non-existent. Frankly, I didn't mind the bit of extra insurance that he wouldn't try taking over tonight. In the back of my mind, I noticed that Molly was staggering about too, apparently feeling the combined effects of the liquor we'd both downed.

"You not vith Veasley girl anymore, I see. Her-mi-o-ne's letter say you and she together." He made a hand gesture that, at least in Britain, suggested copulation.

I shrugged. "We were, but it didn't work out." Across the pitch, Colin was rolling his shoulders and bouncing on his toes. He threw a few shadow punches, which I guess was supposed to be intimidating.

Viktor nodded thoughtfully and took another pull from the bottle. "Vat say you finish quick, ve go to club. Dis party no good."

"Best idea I've heard all night."

* * *

"_Diffindo_!" Colin shouted and a yellow bolt arced toward me. I flicked my wand lazily, tapping it away, and I took at step closer. I figured I'd do as in my fight with Snape and just block or dodge everything and then go slug him—it's worth more style points that way and I wasn't as likely to kill him with a punch.

"_Expelliarmus_!" I didn't bother deflecting. The hex whooshed over my shoulder and I continued to approach.

"_Expulso_!" he screamed. This time, the curse crashed against my shield and flashed with brilliant green flame. Not bad—I guess I'd taught him well.

"Are you about done?" I drawled, then ruined the effect by stumbling slightly, the half bottle I'd drunk affecting my balance. Behind him, Gin's brothers cheered the young wizard on.

He answered by shouting the incantation for a bone-shattering curse and tracking a jagged orbit with his wand. A dark yellow bolt erupted from its tip and I had to put up a strong shield to avoid bleed-through. The curse crackled against the shield, which was nearly opaque with the amount of magic I'd dumped into it. The smile on my face faded—while not illegal, his choice signaled a pretty clear escalation. The kid was playing with fire, using curses like that against me.

A tripping jinx followed, which I side-stepped, and I was almost close enough to kick him in the chops. A cutting curse, neck-level, came fast and I deflected it back at him, shredding his robes near the legs and slicing open his right thigh.

He looked down, turning pale at the sight of his blood, then tensed his shoulders, leveling his wand at me. I put up a strong shield in anticipation, but was unprepared for what followed.

"_Crucio_." A thick, crimson bolt sputtered out of his wand and struck me in the chest. I gasped, going to one knee, before the curse sputtered and lifted.

I stood again. Alright. Now I was pissed off.

I lunged at him, snatching his wand with my left hand, and body-checked him with my shoulder. He fell to a knee in front of me and I grabbed his robes and bitch-slapped him repeatedly, then threw him onto the ground, where he fell, sniffling.

"That was incredibly stupid. I'd be within my rights as an Auror to arrest you and send you to a life sentence to Azkaban." I heard a sharp intake of breath from Ginny's direction, but I didn't take my eyes off my opponent. Instead, I kicked him solidly in the chest and he fell hard onto his back, hitting his head on the ground. "You want to jump in, Charlie, take a crack at me and share his sentence?"

The dragon handler's hands shot up, his wand dropping to his feet. "No thanks, Harry." It was the smartest thing I'd seen a Weasley do all night.

I turned back to Colin, who had started to crab-walk away. I adopted my evilest glare and put up the Glamour that I'd used on Albus, pumping magic into my eyes. My irises flashed with red fire. "But I'm a gracious bloke. Instead, let's treat this as a DA lesson..."

In my best lecture voice, I said, "As my dear teacher, Bellatrix Lestrange, said when she taught me to cast the _Cruciatus_, 'You've got to want to cause pain. You've got to enjoy it.' Let's just say that I've learned that lesson well, Creevy."

Colin whimpered noiselessly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Now now. Let me show you how it's done..." I leered at him and hissed, "_Crucio_," as a stain formed on the front of his robes.

Though I can be a bastard at times, I'm not quite that cruel. I didn't charge up the spell. Instead, in my mind, I merely thought, "_Levicorpus_." Colin flew upward, dangling from an ankle.

* * *

In the ensuing seconds, I learned several things:

Either Colin never bothered dressing after the blow-up with Ginny or he came wearing nothing under his robes. I wasn't sure which disturbed me more.

Not all Gryffindors are hung like lions.

Even upside-down, it's rather difficult for a guy to stop mid-stream.

Fred, George, Percy, and Charlie don't particularly like getting doused with urine.

Ginny likes it even less and she's quick with her bat-bogey hex.

Vik is even quicker with his disarming spells. I'd be buying the first round tonight for sure.

Arthur is wiser than most would give him credit for. He took one look at his daughter's spinning, pissing, whimpering, exposed boyfriend and shook his head. He turned with a sigh and walked away.

* * *

"Bah. Wodka is drink of gods. Next, you tell me you don't like fucking!"

I snorted. Vik had used the same line in the last timeline, the first time we'd hit this place. He was pretty well potted, three-quarters of the way through his bottle after polishing off my firewhiskey during our respite at Number Twelve, when I'd changed into something slightly more appropriate than Auror blues. Nursing my own glass of Cognac, I wasn't far behind.

We were having a great time in the Bulgarian nightclub, but as you know, saying so is redundant. The Eastern European magical communities pride themselves on the quality of their hedonism and their nightlife is legendary. Part of the allure is the liberal use of some dodgy inhibition-lowering charms, stuff that'd get you shut down in a day if you tried it on Knock Alley. The other part was that they only hired waitresses and dancers of mixed Veela ancestry.

We were sitting at a small, round table near the edge of the stage and I had my Occlumency barriers up as well as a few Glamours to hide my scar and make me look a bit older. For the hell of it, I'd also crafted my magic into an aura that acted as a low-grade Veela charm, a little something I'd learned along the way. Coupled with wearing Sirius's pure-blood attire, I was getting enough stares that Vik, international Quidditch star that he was, had moved beyond "amused" and was squarely into "annoyed" territory.

Then, suddenly, his scowl disappeared and he clasped his hand on my shoulder. "Ven you wisit old country, Potter?"

I wasn't getting out of explaining this, I knew. Earlier in the evening, my drinking partner was lamenting the lack of proper clubs in Britain, so with a thundercrack of cross-continental Apparition, I pulled off a SASA—snatch and side-along—and brought us both from London to the street in front of this place. After obeying his first instinct, which was to throw a swing at me, Vik opened his eyes, saw the sign that read, "The Unicorn and the Maiden," and gave me a bear-hug, grinning as if Christmas had come early.

Despite its charming name, it was quite the dive, nestled between places with names translating to "Bloody Skidmark" and "Muddy Undercarriage." And, given how the "maiden" was riding the unicorn on the sign out front, it wasn't clear she qualified...

I leaned back in my chair and said, "When I was working on killing the bastard, the same time I learned to speak Bulgarian. I didn't know you lived here though, or I'd have looked you up."

"You speak Bulgarian?"

I said a few words in reply, but he made a pained face. "Accent too big. Ve speak English tonight."

The music started, loud and raunchy, just as I'd remembered, and I saw a familiar set of legs walk onto stage. Milenka. That wasn't her stage name, but her given name. How I knew it is a story that I won't get into now. Oh, and did I say "walk?" I meant "saunter in such a way as to become every man's fondest fantasy." She looked as good as last time. The part-Veela had a mane of straight, strawberry blonde up top, nothing below, and the kind of body that would have started a riot, had the aggression-suppression charms not been set at full strength.

Molly, back home at the reception, which was winding down, moaned softly in my mind—I'd forgotten about her since arriving—and I could tell that despite the distance, she could feel some of the charms' effects bleeding through our link. I felt a little bad, but there wasn't much I could do since she wasn't talking to me after the little scene with Colin.

As Milenka's knickers vanished, I gave Vik a smirk and placed my bottle at the edge of the stage. I balanced a Galleon vertically on its lip. The angel danced over and turned herself so that her gyrating bum was toward us. Sliding into a wide splits, she snatched up the Galleon without missing a beat. Or bothering with her hands.

Through a haze of alcohol, Veela magic, and mood-altering charms, I peeked in on my Soul-mate and saw, much to my shock, that Molly had jumped atop one of the tables and was imitating some of Milenka's less gymnastic moves.

Not to be outdone, Vik tried the Galleon thing with his own bottle, but Milenka just wagged her finger at him. I flashed him a cheeky grin and dropped a comment about her having taste and not liking Vodka either, then raised an eyebrow to the dancer. With a sexy half-smile, she prowled back and stroked my cheek with a fingertip. She repeated as before, taking a second Galleon. Much to Vik's dismay, she plucked his from the bottle with her fingers. Milenka then leaned in with a growl and kissed my cheek near my ear. I whispered to her in Bulgarian to join us after her dance. She peered at me through long lashes and answered with a quick nod.

Eight Galleons and a great show later, the song ended, Milenka left the stage, and Vik continued to pout. I shared with him the secret—silent warming charms on the coins—and he swore at me in his native tongue, a language rich with curses of the non-magical type.

I had other things on my mind, though. Back at the Burrow, Molly's dress was off and her slip had followed. Nearby, Gabrielle reached behind her back to unfasten her own dress—apparently the Veela girl could sense enough of me in the Weasley matron's bond to make her wish to join. The shoulder straps of Molly's brassiere fell to her elbows and she was about to undo the clasp as Gabrielle, her sons, and Apolline all converged on the makeshift stage.

"Molly!" I shouted in my head, finally penetrating her trance.

"Harry?" she asked, then looked down, horrified. "Sweet Merlin." She blushed—all over—and stepped off the table. Arthur, beside himself with desire and frustration, took her arm and rushed them toward their bedroom. As they went, I saw through her eyes that the Weasley boys had begun modifying the memories of the remaining guests.

Hypocrites.


	5. Five's A Crowd

A/N: See disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Many thanks to the Alpha Fight Club crew for all their help on this, particularly darklordmike, BajaB, BennyS, Scaryisntit, respitechristopher, Nukular Winter, and Voice of the Nephilim. I also wish to acknowledge Viridian/S'TarKan, who wrote a scene in _Nightmares of Futures Past_ that inspired one of the scenes here. (A cookie and a Chapter 6 A/N shout-out to the first to recognize which scenes I'm talking about).

I'd initially intended for this chapter and the next to combine into a single chapter, but together they would have gone over 13k words, which I felt was a little long. Expect Chapter 6 (titled Don't Disrespect the Lemming) soon.

* * *

Chapter Five: Five's a Crowd

* * *

My companion shifted closer to me beneath the covers and I caught a face full of hair. I opened my eyes a crack and blinding rays of sunlight scorched my retinas. I fumbled for my wand and tapped my eyelids, muttering a charm to shrink my pupils so that I could see. A quick glance at the position of the sun showed it was mid-morning and that I probably should get up, though my warm bed and even warmer companion made it a close call.

Last night, rather than crash in the same hotel as a loud, incredibly drunk Viktor and his two lady friends, Milenka and I had opted for my place instead. Halfway through the evening, I slipped on a limiting pendant, so I never got much more than mildly intoxicated and could still pull off the cross-continental dual-Apparation. As my place was still under the Fidelius, her technically illegal, one-night immigration wouldn't be flagged by the Ministry.

I took stock of my other companions, the ones in my head. Tom was insensate in an alcohol-induced doze. Molly, on the other hand, was up and she was upset for some reason. I peeked across the bond to find her in the kitchen in front of a stove, her family arrayed in front of her. Several stony faces looked at her with disappointment. Damn.

"Kreacher?" I whispered.

A loud pop jolted my companion awake, but she drifted back to sleep.

"Wretched, foul-blooded scion of the blood-traitor calls for Kreacher?" He has such a delightful way with words in the morning.

"Yeah. Can you fetch some breakfast for Milenka and me?" The elf glared at me, then at the lump beside me in bed, and attempted to spit.

"Ah, ah... no spitting," I said.

The elf snarled, showing his teeth, and then dropped to his knees and mashed his head into the floor, nose-first, where it made a wet "Scrick" sound as it broke in two places.

"Kreacher remembers nasty Master's command. May Kreacher at least bleed with dignity?" he said with a pitiful voice as blood dribbled down his sodden pillowcase and onto the floor.

"No, absolutely not. Heal yourself and clean that up. That's an order." Iknew that if I let him have his way, he'd intentionally bleed all over the floor, the bed, our clothing... Bastard would probably take blood-replenishing potions to keep up the flow.

I watched as the recalcitrant elf thought about his options, then deflated as he had none. Two angry snaps of his fingers fixed his face and the mess.. Back at the Burrow, Hermione, with a pained expression on her face, stepped slowly into the kitchen and seated herself upon an inflatable 'O'-shaped cushion. It was impossible to miss the glare she sent at Ron, who moved to sit beside her.

"Kreacher can prepare a breakfast for foul-blooded Master and his half-breed whore, but Kreacher is an old elf who has trouble working the stove…"

I interrupted him. We went through this ritual every morning and I knew the score by now. "Fine. Take some Galleons from my bag and pop to Diagon Alley and get take-away from the Leaky Cauldron. Please get two of the usual and do not poison anything." He deflated at the last. With an extra-loud crack that rattled the windows, he disappeared. I leaned over to kiss my companion behind the ear. She swatted at me in annoyance.

Despite her crankiness, Milenka was good people—the kind you _do_ make breakfast for in the morning. Or at least send out for it.

Last timeline, she and I met four years after the war. I was in Bulgaria, chasing down Selwyn and his gang, remnants of one of the last Death Eater cells, and led a team that tore apart their compound. In their dungeons, we found Milenka's uncle a hair's breadth from death. Debts had gotten the best of the unrepentant gambler, and he'd borrowed from the wrong sort of people, the kind whose collectors, the Death Eaters in question, were acting as the equivalent of toe-cutters in the Muggle world. After a few too many missed payments, Kirill—minus feet and fingers—was kidnapped and held for ransom. Though he never walked again, a grateful Milenka, herself an orphan and widow, got back her only living family. She and I became good friends.

Hard as it may be to believe, we'd never slept together before last night. I had a strange feeling in my stomach—last night was the first time I'd ever cheated on Gin, barring Pollies who looked just like her and who don't really count.

Kreacher reappeared with a loud pop. "Master's breakfast, including nasty, bitter coffee. Mistress would have approved of torturing bestial harlots with coffee." He said the last with a sneer and then thrust a tray with utensils and a paper bag into my hands.

"Thanks," I said, wincing as he vanished with another extremely loud crack.

"Jopa!" Milenka swore, grabbing at my pillow and pulling it over her head. She wasn't a morning person.

A blurry, frowning Arthur Weasley ghosted into view—Molly must have been really upset, projecting as she was. As I spread the breakfast and coffee on a tray for my companion, I caught fragments of what her sons and husband were saying.

"Mum, you sure you're you?" Fred folded his arms across his chest and asked thoughtfully, "Which of your children got his anus sealed with a sticking spell after he made prefect?"

George rolled his eyes. "Please, George. Everyone knows about Percy." He turned to his mother. "How could this happen, Mum? Is something bothering you?" Ginny, sitting beside him, nodded in agreement.

"I don't know," Molly said, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

I hurriedly slipped into a clean pair of boxers and dressing gown.

"Milenka," I said, nudging the half-Veela gently.

"Let me sleep," she murmured in Russian, her native tongue.

I answered in Bulgarian, my Russian too rusty to trust to get the point across to a groggy lady. "I've got breakfast for when you wake up." She nodded and pulled the covers tightly around her body.

"It's a right mess, that's what it is," I heard Charlie say as he picked up a dark brown scone and bit into it, disgusted. "What will our guests think?" he asked, his mouth full.

I plucked a spoon from the tray and concentrated, saying, "Portus," then instructed my sleepy companion on how to activate the Portkey back to Bulgaria.

Arthur stepped behind her and hugged her about the middle. "Mollywobbles, when I married you, I never thought I'd see the day when something like this would happen. I know you've had a lot on your mind lately, but... wow." He gave her another squeeze, then grabbed a scone and tea and sat at the table.

Molly looked to her youngest son, who shook his head. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore, Mum," he said sadly. Beside him, Hermione took his hand in hers, her eyes bright.

I slid into a pair of slippers and Apparated to the Burrow, appearing with a quiet "pop" in front of Molly. "Stop it, all of you! How can you treat her this way?" I stepped back and pulled her into an embrace. "You have no idea how much she loves and cares for you. I can't believe that you'd let a thing like last night tear you apart as a family."

"You're way out of line, Potter," the twins chorused, suddenly a lot more serious.

"No, you're out of line, treating her like garbage just because the reception got a little out of hand."

"Hardly 'a little out of hand,'" Hermione stated, starting to stand, then returning to her seat as pain registered.

"Harry," Molly said, "let me handle this, please."

"No, Molly." I looked into her brown eyes and felt a tug on our bond. "They need to understand what a precious person you are. I'd have hoped family would stand together at times like this, but I guess I was wrong." I made eye contact with each Weasley, who stared back at me with surprise and defiance. "Listen, it's partly my fault, what happened."

"Harry," Molly interrupted.

"No, it's time they knew." I turned to the Weasleys and after a deep breath said, "Last night happened because Molly and I share a Soul Bond. The alcohol and some of the magic I was exposed to affected her."

Gasps filled the room as Arthur looked to his wife. After a moment, she nodded hesitantly. He deflated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"How?" Hermione asked.

"Time travel." Over the next half hour, I shared with them my story, of how I returned from the future to save them and a shattered world, about how the misunderstanding with Ginny had happened before, and about how the Soul Bond had gotten confused and attached to Molly instead of Ginny, my one-time wife. The news of death and tragedy was sobering.

After a long silence, Ron asked, "That's all fine, Harry, but what does this 'Soul Bond' whatsit have to do with Mum burning the scones?"

"What?" Hermione blurted, her confusion matching my own.

George and Fred looked at each other, then laughed so hard they couldn't stop. Charlie cracked up as well, then recovered enough composure to say, "Harry, you thought Mum's striptease was what this was about? Oh, that's rich."

"Well, yeah." I said as Hermione nodded.

"Psh. That was nothing," Ron said, snickering, finally catching on.

"Something like that happens at every Weasley gathering, Harry," Arthur said with a chuckle. He took a bite of one of the darkened scones and chewed slowly.

"Oy, remember Aunt Muriel last year at the reunion?" George asked his twin.

"How could I forget, oh brother of mine? One hundred plus and sky-clad," Fred said.

"Wanted to gouge out my eyes with a grapefruit spoon, I did," George added.

"Saggy tattoos." Charlie said, shivering.

"This was all about… scones?" I looked to Molly, who nodded, smiling weakly.

"Mum _burned_ the scones, Harry," Ron said, solemnly. "Can you believe it? To a crisp, even!"

"And they were too small, to boot!" Ginny added, smearing butter over hers.

"But…" Hermione started, confused.

Arthur patted her on the thigh. "Weasleys take our food very seriously."

* * *

"I guess I made a complete bollocks of that?" I buttered some toast, not wanting to brave the brown scone-like lumps. The others had left, each finding they needed some time alone before what was sure to be an awkward brunch. Arthur obviously wanted to speak with Molly, but not at the expense of her finishing preparing the meal, so he left for his shed instead.

"Yes, Harry, but I do appreciate the gesture." She gave me a warm hug. I'm not ashamed to say it, but somehow things just felt right in her arms, as if something in the universe just clicked into place. Maybe some of it was my growing up without a mother. Maybe it was that I'd missed holding a Soulmate. Maybe if she weren't married… I banished the thought as quickly as I could, but Molly didn't miss it. With an impudent wink, she pinched my bum and went back to work at the cooking, humming to herself.

Hermione appeared in the doorway, looking upset. "Harry, can you come here please?"

Molly, looked like she had the brunch preparation under control, so I followed my friend into the study, where Ron was sitting. "I noticed you didn't say anything about Ron and me. Did we get together? Did we at least die happy?"

"Actually, you two didn't die, but everyone else did. You married right after the final battle and had three children."

"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted, grinning like he'd won the Galleon Draw.

Hermione shot him a glare, then asked, "What about my parents? Did they survive the war?"

"They came back from Australia and restarted their dental practice." I looked at my hands, which were clenched tightly. I really hated thinking about those dark days, when it seemed we'd buried half the country. There were times I'd envied the dead.

"Ron and I, w- were we happy?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah. You still had rows now and then, but anyone could see that you were in love. You had a great family, two girls, Molly Sue and Ginny Emma, and a boy, Anaximander Arthur. It was probably the only thing that kept your dad going, Ron."

Ron still had his mouth open in shock. "Anaximander? What the hell kind of name is that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He was an ancient Greek philosopher, perhaps the smartest man of his time." She gasped and looked at me with wide eyes. "Harry, you destroyed us. Ron, me, my family, our children..."

"Huh?"

She stood up and pointed her index finger at me. "Did Professor Dumbledore say what would happen to the other timeline?"

"What do you mean?"

She started pacing slowly, her bow-legged walk obviously unpleasant, and spoke in her lecturing voice, "Time travel of the kind you did is extremely dodgy. I read all about temporal paradoxes when I had the Time Turner. You can't just separate someone from the earlier timeline in any way that could change things without setting up a kind of ontological absurdity. When you came back, one of two things must have happened: Either you would cease to exist, leaving the other timeline intact and the other Ron and me living happily with our family, or else the other timeline disappeared forever." She stopped in front of my chair, staring straight into my eyes. "You're here. You _killed_ us, Harry."

"What? No! Albus never said anything about…"

"He probably didn't think you'd survive, mate," Ron offered, finally recovering from the shock of hearing he was a father three times over. "Probably figured you'd stuff it up and die."

That sneaky bastard! I'd even spotted the errors in his portrait's equations—no wonder he got so bloody depressed toward the end.

"I can't believe it," Hermione gasped, stepping back. "You killed _billions_ and ended the lives of billions more before they were born. You're a thousand times worse than Hitler was!"

"But you're here, Hermione, and so is everyone else. You never even met your other you."

"I don't even know you. You're not our Harry," she said, shaking with emotion. "You're someone else with Harry's memories in Harry's body."

"Of course I am—I'm the same Harry as I was!" I stood to face her.

"Then we were the same 'we' that we were," she countered. "You can't have it both ways… God, I can't believe it. Coming back was insanity! You're a- a mass murderer!"

Arthur wandered into the study as she spoke, his mind on the plugs in his hands. "Harry, I hate to bother you , but you said that the third prong was to 'earth' if the device went 'live.' What did you mean by 'live?' Do the muggles have a way of animating toasters? And do you feed them dirt, or just bury them in the ground?"

Hermione stared at him, her mouth opening and closing in silence. Then she ran from the room, weeping. I felt Molly go to console her.

Arthur scratched his head, confused. "Bad time?"

Ron started to follow his future wife, then turned back to me, looking smug. "She's got a point, you know. Whether you meant to or not, you destroyed an entire universe for your own happiness. Kinda proves my point about your being a selfish prat, Harry."

"Harry, about those plugs." Arthur said after a pregnant silence.

"I'd rather not talk about plugs, sir."

"I suppose not." He slumped into the sofa, his head lowered. "I always knew this day would come."

"Sir?"

"Molly's a free spirit and I'm lucky to have tamed her for as long as I have. I'm dreadfully sorry to have taken what's rightfully yours."

"Hold on—she belongs with you."

"Nonsense, the magic says otherwise." He chuckled mirthlessly. "It's funny—I'd thought she might run off with Sirius, what with that brilliant motorbike of his. I enchanted the Anglia to impress her you know." He gave me a pained look, then his eyes brightened. "Did Sirius happen to leave you his motorbike? Perhaps we could arrange a swap—Molly for..."

"What? No, never!"

"I understand. It really was a brilliant machine."

"That's not what I meant at all."

"Of course not. Well, all I ask is that you treat her right. Molly's a fine woman... absolutely glorious in bed." He scratched his head. "Will she be staying with you, Harry?"

"Absolutely not."

Arthur sighed and pursed his lips. "Oh, then I suppose the two of you two can share the master bedroom. Tug the gold tassel for the mirrors. The bottom drawer of the bureau has the whips and bindings. Molly's... well, she can show you the rest I'm sure." He patted the horsehair couch. "I'll just, er, make my bed here. It's a good couch, a sturdy couch. We've known some good times, this couch and me, that we have. Well, maybe not the _best_ of times, you know, but not bad times, still." He blinked, as if remembering something. "Unless you don't wish for me to stay around, that is..."

"Sir, I'm _not_ going to sleep with your wife."

Arthur corrected me. "_Your_ wife now. She's Bonded to you."

"But..."

He got angry. "Oh stop with it, Harry. I think we both just want to her to be happy." He stood and straightened, adopting the tone he used with his sons. "Now you're going to do your husbandly duties, Harry Potter, and you're going to like it—Merlin knows you will. And I'm _not_ going to listen to any more complaining out of you, young man. Do you hear me?"

I nodded, wanting the conversation over as soon as possible. I needed that Bond fixed, and fast.

"Stiff upper lip, Harry. Stiff upper lip." He left and I remained, completely flummoxed. I dropped onto the couch and spent a few minutes contemplating the embers in the fireplace. As it was summertime, a charm kept it cold, much like the lump in my stomach. Was Hermione right? Was I evil? Insane? And if things didn't work out, just what would become of Molly's and my relationship? I could tell that, consummation or not, the Bond was strengthening fast.

I suddenly felt like vomiting and I was quite sure it wasn't the toast.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see that it was Ginny with a distant look on her face. I could guess what she wanted and after my chat with Arthur I wasn't looking forward to the discussion.

I returned my gaze to the fire. She remained behind me and I somehow knew that she was looking at the flames too. This had to be as awkward for her as it was me.

The silence stretched for more than a minute before she asked, "We had a Soul Bond?"

"Yeah." There was another long silence.

"And we were married."

I nodded. "We had some good times together, the best," I whispered.

"And did we do… it?"

"Yeah."

"A lot?"

"A whole lot, in every way imaginable."

Silence stretched for two minutes, maybe more.

"Were you any good?" she asked.

"You seemed to think so."

"Good."

* * *

I tapped a heavy, brass knocker against a reinforced steel door as Molly hugged her daughter and husband and watched them leave for the observation deck of the Transferral Room. A small door slid open and a single eye appeared, a lady's brown eye.

"Can I help you?" a high-pitched voice asked. Curious. She wasn't the corpulent orderly who had turned us away for misfiled paperwork the last six times we'd tried doing the ritual.

"I'm Harry..."

The door jerked open and a short witch with a round face looked up at me, wide eyed. "Oh, Harry Potter! It's so great to see you again. You remember me, don't you?"

"Um, yeah, Miss..."

"Merryweather. Hufflepuff two years above you." Lovely. Lupin's Lolita.

"Lau..."

"Laura, right! I knew you'd remember! Oh, I can't wait to tell the girls in the office!" Molly cleared her throat behind me.

"It's great to see you again, Laura, but we have an appoint..." She interrupted me again.

"Appointment, for the room. Right. Here, these came for you." She handed me two large canvas duffles.

I stared at her.

"You need it to yourselves, got it." Laura stared at me for a moment, starry-eyed, and then blushed. "Oh. I guess I'll just be going then." She grabbed her handbag and scurried out of the room.

"Do you get that a lot?" Molly asked.

"Unfortunately." I unzipped the first duffle and removed a tiny, disfigured humanoid figure, like a doll for parents who want to give their children night terrors. With a too-large head and gangly limbs, the fleshy mass was a temporary storage receptacle for a soul—Molly's. I placed it upon one of the compass points of the thaumaturgic circle in the center of the room. At the opposite point, five meters away, I put Tom's homunculus, which was more wrinkly, but without the shock of red hair atop its tiny, partially flattened head. I was grateful for the obvious differences—I didn't think my lunch would stay down if I had to tell them apart solely by malformed genitalia.

I stood in the center of the circle and placed my wand at a third compass point, behind me. I let my eyes close halfway and breathed deeply, pushing my magic into the circle. In an instant, the air hummed as the subtle charms of the room resonated with the Bond Molly and I shared. My chest tightened as a soft blanket of warmth awakened and wrapped about us. As Molly climbed upon the dais at the final compass point, I spared a peek up at the observation deck, where Arthur and Ginny looked on. Gin's hands were gripped tightly in front of her chest and Arthur was pacing behind her. They were at least as nervous as I was.

"Are you sure about this?" Molly asked.

"As much as I can be. If this doesn't work, nothing will." Molly nodded and folded her hands across her abdomen, willing herself to stop fidgeting, but not succeeding.

I started a low chant in ancient Gaelic, a tongue I didn't speak until recently. For several minutes, nothing happened, save for a general darkening of the room, the rows of antiseptic white globes of light upon the ceiling turning dull grey. A light breeze started to swirl about, blowing my robes tight against my body. I chanted louder and pushed more magic into my spell. My chest suddenly felt tight, as if something vital were being sucked from me. A drop of perspiration trickled down my temple.

With a loud crackle, the circle lit up in brilliant silver, its runes stoked with magic. An aura of white bathed Molly and me. Between us was an ethereal cable, writhing and twisting, the physical manifestation of the bond. Knotted with it were three black fibrils of malefic phantasm. As I'd anticipated, one snake-like thread, my link to Tom's horcrux, traced up to my forehead. The second, my tie to Tom's disembodied soul, fastened to my chest. The third, oddly enough, was directed toward the observation deck. I didn't know what to make of that, but I couldn't worry about it. Time was of the essence.

I took a deep breath and started the trickiest part of the ritual, where I'd place Molly's and Tom's souls into their homunculus containers, then separate the bond from Molly's long enough for her to move back to her body. Then I'd reattach the Soul Bond to her homunculus, which would retain enough of her essence to fix the Bond. I'd put it under a stasis spell and seal it in my Gringotts vault, the end result for me being Soul Bonded to a mindless entity in a sensory deprivation chamber. Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice but to let Tom back into my head, since his last horcrux ensured he could return anyway.

What made this dodgy was that I'd need a measure of cooperation from the souls in question and Tom hadn't spoken to me in weeks. But, given how many times we'd tried to use the room and had been turned away because of bureaucractic administrivia, I needed to seize the chance before the Minister changed his mind. Besides which, with the Bond strengthening, I was running out of time.

My lungs burned as the magic reached a crescendo, the ancient verses of the ritual touching me in a spiritual way. I curled my left hand and Molly's chest heaved as her soul ripped from her body. I splayed my fingers and pushed the glowing blue essence into her homunculus. Its bulbous eyes blinked open, but it lay still.

I took another deep breath, then dug deep inside myself, seeking Tom's essence. After a moment, I found it, but it was slippery and eluded my grasp. I reached again and this time pulled harder. Tom snarled as I drew him out of me and crammed him unceremoniously into his own homunculus.

Perspiration soaked my body as I started on the final part of the ritual, the delicate separation of the Soul Bond from Molly's homunculus. Tense minutes passed as I worked, the operation taking longer than I'd hoped. Then I felt a stabbing sensation in my right side and fell to my knees, the Bond only half-severed. A circle of red expanded on my robes. I looked up and saw that Tom's homunculus had seized Molly's wand and was holding it over its tiny shoulder bazooka-style as it ambled toward her prone homunculus.

On a scale of one to ten, this rated a solid, "Oh shit."

I ground my teeth together and grunted loudly as I abandoned caution, ripping the Bond away from Molly's homunculus and causing it to fly backward and smash into the wall. The Bond whipped in the other direction, shattering the window to the observation deck, leaving a jagged scar in the white-washed stone. The ground started to tremble and large cracks formed on the ceiling. A few of the globes of light fell and glass shattered on the floor.

Molly's tiny body screamed a horrid keen as racking pains seized her. I wrapped both hands about my Bond and wrestled with it, trying to tame the uncontrollable magic. Through it all, Tom moved closer. I could only manage to grunt, "Molly, Tom. Your wand."

Homunculus-Molly blinked her bulging eyes and somehow figured out what I was saying because she rolled aside, dodging a Killing Curse at the last minute, and bounced up on her elastic bum, then pushed up clumsily onto her stubby legs. She pattered toward my wand on the floor and grasped it with both hands, cradling it to her chest. Tom aimed a blasting curse toward her, but she slashed the wand downward in a two-handed grip and shielded herself somehow, though fell backward in the process. The curse exploded against her makeshift shield and instead of being pulverized into red mist, she was blown up into the air. She flipped a few times and landed ungracefully on her head and left arm, bending each in the wrong direction. Fortunately, the elastic bones of her homunculus body refused to break, though a few shards of glass poked into her body.

"Stand still, wench!" Tom shouted in a tiny voice and sent a cone of blue flame after Molly, which missed when she ducked behind the stone dais upon which her body lay. I felt a surge of feedback in the room's magic from the disrupted ritual and a fan of green lightning arced from the ceiling to the floor, smiting the thaumaturgic circle and creating a magical backlash that drew my Bond upward in a spiral, where it slammed into the stone. Huge blocks shuddered, then dislodged and fell to the floor. Molly lurched forward, barely avoiding being crushed by a massive slab, but she loosed her grip on my wand, causing it to clatter onto the stone floor.

Tom whipped his body around in a pirouette and a spiraling orange ribbon of light flew toward her with a hiss. Prone and wandless, she couldn't hope to block. Her eyes widened in terror as the curse approached.

I wrenched the bond downward and flopped it into the path of the curse. The two met and a shockwave of force blasted outward and I felt something travel up the bond and absorb in my abdomen, where it shredded at my insides. My eyes watered with the pain and I dropped to one knee.

The Bond shifted upward again and the trailing bit of the curse passed by. It smote Molly's container on the left side of her head, slicing off an ear and puncturing an eyeball. Her left hand, which she'd raised to shield herself, fell to the floor with a meaty "thwap."

"Molly!" I tried to say, but spat out a mouthful of blood instead.

Setting her remaining eye in determination, she dove for my wand, placed its butt on the floor, and aimed the tip toward her mouth. Tom rushed the dais, the end of his bazooka wand glowing organ-pulverizer-blue. He whispered the incantation for his curse.

"Engorgio," Molly squeaked desperately and a white jet spat from my wand's tip into her face. Just before Tom's curse struck her, she grew to the size of a mountain troll.

Tom's curse had no effect on the enormous Molly-fiend. His feet squeaked on the polished stone as he tried to stop, but he stumbled into her ankle. Molly turned, noticing him, and looked down with a growl. She punted him hard, her toes caving in his chest and the force whipping his head hard forward hard enough to snap his rubbery spine. Tom's dying container and its disembodied head careened toward me faster than I could dodge and I was knocked off my feet and outside the circle.

Free from the confines of the controlling runes, the Bond sucked an enormous gout of power from the room and, with a deafening roar, expanded to a meter across, whipping around uncontrollably. I watched in horror as it smote Tom's broken body and head, liquifying both instantly and absorbing his dark soul back into the bond. The wall behind him collapsed and large blocks of stone toppled forward. I scurried backward out of the way of an errant block and watched, helpless, as my Bond whipped sideways, smiting Molly's container.

She looked at me with terror and mouthed, "I'm... melting!" A moment later, her enlarged homunculus turned into a mass of green-coloured goo and the diffuse, blue haze of her soul sought the bond before it faded. I didn't get to see her fate because just then, Ginny screamed and backed up as the swirling tip of the Bond angled upward toward her, apparently drawn to the source of the third black tendril. I crawled back into the broken circle, lay upon my back, and put every ounce of energy I had into stopping it.

After an eternity of struggle, which left me drained and delirious, the tip slowed, then stopped just short of her. We both breathed a sigh of relief at the averted disaster. Then the Bond surged forward and buried within her chest.

I felt it affix to the new target. Ginny's eyes went wide, then narrowed, as seething hatred bled over the Bond.

She and I were together again. Until death do us part.

* * *

"Please, oh Merlin, please tell me this isn't what I think it is!" Ginny yelled, sounding more angry than scared.

I didn't have time for her whining act. Over the bond, I said to her, "Ginny, shut up. Molly, are you there?" There was a pause, but I felt her—at least a bit of her. Her soul was damaged, clearly, but largely intact. "Molly?"

"I'm here," she said weakly. She sounded distant, as if talking through a long tube.

"Whose head are you in?" There was another pause.

"Ginny's, I think." That was good news, at least. If she felt that distant in my own head, I doubted there would be enough of her to save.

"Mum? What do you mean in my head? How the bloody hell can you be in my head?!" Ginny screamed. Arthur moved to hold her.

"Shut up, dear." Molly said. "Harry, I'm okay, I think, but a little disoriented."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Understandable. I'm going to check your body—I'm pretty sure it's still alive, but, it's not going to be easy to put your soul back."

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on!" Ginny shouted.

"Shut up!" Molly yelled, sounding more like herself.

I looked over at Molly's body, which was lying motionless atop the dais and had miraculously avoided being crushed by two-tonne blocks of falling stone. Her kind face, lined with age, was placid and her lips had a slight upward curl. Her chest rose and fell slowly, as if she were merely sleeping.

Time to check on my parasite. Exerting no small force of will, I drew what remained of Tom forth and, well it's hard to describe, but I _squeezed_. He hissed in pain, but I didn't relent, not after the bastard had nearly gotten us all killed.

Like Molly, Tom was hurting from his encounter with the Bond, so when I gave him a command, one backed by fury and magic, he had no hope of resisting.

"Well?" I asked his shade.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Ginny asked, this time in her mind.

"Shut up, Ginny," I said, then turned to Tom. "Talk, bitch."

"I had to," Tom said tiredly. "If I didn't, I'd never get the chance again."

"What the hell were you trying to accomplish?" He didn't answer, so I crushed him some more.

"Stop!" he shouted. "I'll talk, just.... just stop." I let up the pressure a bit. "I sought to slay the harridan and possess her body."

"Why? You knew you couldn't succeed, not with your horcrux in my head."

He fell silent once again, so I ramped up the pain. He screamed for a long time, a sound that I found disturbingly gratifying—maybe I did have a touch of insanity after all, though I could tell by Molly's stoic silence that she didn't disapprove. Not a bit.

But someone did. "Stop it! Stop it please!" Ginny pleaded. "Tell him!"

"Tell me what?" I asked, meeting Ginny's eyes. She looked away quickly.

Tom sighed, knowing the game was up and he was in no position to oppose me. "I shall. Just stop your infernal torture." He gathered his thoughts and then spoke. "I have another horcrux, Potter, a sentient one."

"Impossible. Albus and I destroyed all of them." My blood went cold as I remembered the third black tendril.

"Not all. I sensed that my diary had imprinted enough of me into the waif to act as one."

"Ginny?" Molly asked. "Who is this other being?"

"Um, nobody?" Ginny said sheepishly.

"Excuse me? A nobody? Moi?" an effeminate voice asked.

"Tommi, don't!"

He ignored her. "Hi everybody! So fabulous to meet you all!" he gushed. "Especially you, Tiger. Rrrrawrr." Somehow, I just knew that he was speaking to me.

"Who the hell are you... Tommy?" I asked. The voice sounded strangely familiar.

"Why Tommi Riddle, that's who, you silly goose. And it's Tommi, spelled with an 'i', not a 'y.' And dot the 'i' with a smile, please."

Then he giggled. Not a chuckle, nor a guffaw. Not even a cackle. I swear—it was an an honest-to-Circe giggle from Tom Riddle, or at least the impression of his soul fragment, what remained after five years in Gin's head.

"Tom? You knew about him?" I asked.

"Not as such," Tom groused, "but I did sense enough of my essence in the castoff waif to warrant her protection. I'd ordered that she was not to be harmed. She is a pureblood, after all. I'd intended to capture her and make her my consort. I was most displeased with Rookwood after she suffered an injury in the raid at the Department of Mysteries."

"Ahem, puhlease. My girl in a fling with Mr. 'Black and Snakey?' Ick. That look was sooo last century. Now this fine hunk of meat..." Again, I shivered. "I'd dress him in bacon and eat him on toast."

"Ginny?" Molly asked. "How long has this boy been in your head?"

My wife was evasive. "A little while...."

"You never said anything? Why?" I sputtered. Mab's muff! How'd she hide this from me before?

Tommi sensed my question and answered. "Oh, don't be silly, Tiger. Ginny-girl just wanted you to herself. Though we've been super-close friends for forever, this girl don't share."

"Tommi," Ginny warned.

I felt a strange urge to strangle Gin's ride-along; his "thuper" lisp having grown intolerable after fifteen seconds. "Right then. So it's the five of us in two bodies."

"I can't believe I have Mum is in my head," Ginny lamented. "This is horrible!"

"But Tommi Riddle is okay?" Molly said acidly. "I've only been here for a short while, young lady, and I can already tell from what I've seen that you've got a terribly dirty mind. And this Dean Thomas—you and I are going to talk about what exactly you got up to in that closet!"

"Mu-um!"

"Don't 'Mum' me, little girl. You're going to degnome the garden until you get that boy curiosity out of your head!"

"Right," she said aloud, rolling her eyes. Arthur looked at her, confused, the past minutes having been done inside our heads. I'm quite sure he thought we all were going around the bend. "Oh, that's just rich," Ginny continued inside her head. "Because nothing gets your mind off penises like grabbing those little pink heads and tugging and twirling until they vomit all over your hands."

"Stop this at once with the naughty language!"

"Penis, penis, penis, penis.... Boy bits, Mum? And did I mention that the gnomes go stiff when you hold them long enough?"

"Gah!" Molly said.

Ginny smirked. "Dean and I aren't even together. That's old news. I'm with Colin now."

"Yes, and you'll kindly watch where you put your hands next time you're with that boy. He's just as bad!"

Tommi said to me conspiratorially, "I'm pulling for you. Though Colin has the cuddlier arse, he doesn't have the full package."

I wondered when, exactly, Tommi had seen my arse... or "package," for that matter.

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Arthur asked, unable to contain his curiosity any more.

"Shut up," Ginny, Molly, and I chorused.

"Right," he said.


	6. Don't Disrespect the Lemming

A/N: See disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Sorry for the long wait. Many thanks to the Alpha Fight Club crew for their help on this, particularly respite, darklordmike, scaryisntit, BennyS, and Voice of the Nephilim.

* * *

Chapter 6: Don't Disrespect the Lemming

* * *

"You can't just go torturing someone because you have issues with his lifestyle," I said, trying to keep my mind off of what my better half was doing with her tongue.

Tom was equally irritated. "It wasn't torture. I was merely using discomfort as a mild incentive for this 'Tommi' to reveal vital information about how his abomination came about."

"And his screams—they were aquiescence?"

"Precisely." There was a long pause.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay, you know," I said.

"I merely wished to know what malevolence the waif wreaked to pervert my soul fragment so."

I shrugged. "Maybe Ginny didn't do anything?"

"Impossible. I'm no sexual deviant."

I smirked.

"I'm not, you imbecile! And even if I were, five years wouldn't have been enough time to change me into... that."

"Well, your diary's spending ten years in the Malfoy House of Hair couldn't have helped matters any. Draco's as bent as a butcher's hook and his father wasn't exactly the most masculine of your Inner Circle. Didn't you say he was always the first to kneel?"

"He did wed a woman of incomparable beauty, though."

My thoughts turned to Milenka and I decided that Tom and I would have to agree to disagree.

Tommi shouted. "Come on, girlfriend! You let him dangle that thing inside you and you just lie there?"

Ginny made a sound that sounded halfway between a moan and a "mmph" and I coughed loudly, trying to keep my eyes on the pages of the book I was pretending to read and my mind off Ginny and Colin. Soul Bonded, she was soldiering on, insisting that they continue their relationship.

I spoke up to break the silence. "As I was saying, the bloke I met in the Chamber of Secrets was, shall we say, extraordinarily well groomed...."

"As are all Slytherins of good breeding."

Molly's voice interrupted us. "Dear, you're going too fast. Hold it in your lips more and tease it with your tongue."

"And breathe through your nose," Tommi added, "or you'll gag."

"Exactly. Listen to the nice boy—he's done this before," Molly said.

Ginny backed up, panting. "Mum, I can do this by myself!"

Colin said, "Huh?" Ginny had said that aloud, apparently.

"Well, you're not doing it right," Molly grumbled.

"Who said I wanted your help? Leave me alone!"

"Well, I never..." Molly and Ginny started arguing with one another.

"And manicured," I said in a loud voice. "The Tom Riddle I knew had impeccable nails."

Tom growled.

"What I can't figure out is why McNair stabbed Ginny the first time around. I caught the look on his face—it was like he was possessed or something," I said, turning a page.

Tom thought for a moment. "What was the exact wording of the prophecy, as it pertains to our killing each other?"

"Either must die at the hand of the other..."

"There you have it. I used to refer to McNair as my 'Hand of Discipline.' I often asked that he deliver pain unto those who refused my orders."

"But that doesn't make sense. He wasn't my hand; he was yours."

"And what did it feel like when your Bond-mate perished? As if you died, perhaps?"

He had that right.

"Don't think too hard on it, Potter. Prophecies are rarely intelligible without imbibing a strong narcotic."

"I only wanted to help," Molly said hotly. "Now start again, and this time, hold it a between your lips and pause before you take it inside you."

"And be sure you tell him you like it in you," Tommi answered with a wink. "Boys just lurrrrve to hear that."

"Back to the matter at hand, Potter," Tom said. "I fail to see the importance of my soul fragment's nails. It's merely a sign of proper breeding."

"Right. Because the Gaunts were so very refined."

"Silence!" he roared. I'd pushed his buttons pretty thoroughly.

Ginny moaned and closed her mouth around Colin's offering.

Tommi giggled. "Oooh, now it's all soft and squishy."

"But the color is good," Molly said. "A nice healthy red, and tasty too. I wouldn't mind some of that myself, though I don't have a body anymore." She sighed.

"Should I swallow?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, dear," Molly answered. "It's better to do so before your mouth gets full and you dribble down your blouse, unless he's the kind who likes having to clean up messes."

Ginny did, moaning again as she did. I wished I were anywhere but in my head.

"No proper Dark Lord would be so misguided as that abomination," Tom groused.

"Grindelwald?"

"Touché."

"Your turn—feed him, girl!" Tommi chirped.

"Would you just shut up?!" Ginny shouted. Across the bond, I could tell her cheeks were flushed.

"What's wrong?" Colin asked, setting aside the bowl of strawberries he was feeding Ginny. He wiped his hands on his trousers to remove the sticky, red juice, and stroked her cheek tenderly with the back of a knuckle.

"Nothing," Ginny said, sighing and smoothing her blouse.

"Come on, you can tell me," he said, putting his arm behind her and pulling her close.

"Remember when I told you Mum and Harry were Soul Bonded?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, your Mum's a lucky lady."

"There was a terrible accident and now Mum's in my head instead of her body and I'm Soul Bonded with Harry too."

Colin stood and paced in front of her for a time. "So... Harry sees and feels everything that happens to you?"

"Yeah," she said, her face in her hands. "Mum too."

Colin paced some more, then stopped, thrusting his fist into the air.

"That. Is. So. Awesome!" He knelt before her. "Ginny, will you marry me?"

"What?!" my wife asked, her hands balled into fists.

"When we do... you know... it, Harry will feel it too—it's like doing it with him!"

"Right..." Ginny said.

"With him! Harry Potter!"

Ginny stood and looked down at her kneeling, soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, who looked utterly beguiled by the fantasies running through his head.

"Fuck this," she said and kicked him squarely in the testicles.

* * *

I looked over the assembled collection of Aurors, a professional bunch checking and rechecking equipment, applying protection charms, and quaffing magical boosters and stimulants. They were my crew and had come a long way in the past weeks. I expected that we'd need every bit of their training on this mission.

As I checked my own gear, I took stock of my tag-alongs. Molly was here, Ginny's having kicked her out while she worked on revisions for Transfiguration back at the Burrow. Tom was here too, but far back in my head, and I assumed Tommi was with him. I closed off my connection to Gin as much as I could and tamped down some of my nervous energy.

I stood to brief my team on our take down of the Carrows place. Amycus and his big sis-cum-lover, Alecto, lived together in a stone keep in the middle of a bog. Last time, we didn't have much trouble burying the place beneath several thousand cubic metres of muck, but with the changes this timeline, they were sporting a set of professional-grade wards and multiple layers of traps and animations. I knew the signature well: Flammors and Cackleson, two of Voldemort's Inner Circle still at large, had joined them.

"Travers," I said, drawing in the air a holographic representation of the Carrows compound. "You take Charlie squad and approach from the south just to the left of this ridge here." I pointed with my wand and a section lit up yellow. "The Portkey arrives two klicks southeast, here. Patrols are unlikely, but go 'Dissed' and silenced just to be safe. Intel says the best approach is here, along this path. They've got traps here and here and low-grade animations guarding things here." I pointed to a few other places on the holographic map, lighting up the dangerous areas in red. "We'll be putting a max-altitude cutter matrix over the perimeter—ceiling of five meters—as well as Portkey and Apparition wards. Fly low and hard or your loved ones will be getting bits in a box. All except for you, Jenkins."

The Auror scowled at me. Jenkins was actually reasonably competent and ten years my senior, but he was going through an unfortunate stint of insubordination that started when I was named Captain. He was good with a wand and didn't have a bad head for tactics, but he had a chip on his shoulder big enough to prevent him from taking orders from someone he thought of as an inferior and a Ministry pin-up. The bloke reminded me of Ron, actually, which is why my former friend never cut it with the Aurors the last time around and ended up an assistant manager for one of the Cannons' junior league squads. I obviously couldn't leave Jenkins in command of a squad, so I bumped him down to assistant squad leader and let Travers, my buddy from last time, deal with him.

"Why except for me, Captain?" he drawled. "No family?" That's right—he was an orphan too.

"No bits."

I gestured with my wand and a winding path lit up on the projection in baby blue, several new pockets of danger appearing as red blotches. Travers and the others on his team not named Jenkins nodded. "Your primary objective is prisoner rescue—standard SASA to the bounce point, then Portkey to triage. Keep a wand on them until you're sure they're safe. If you meet any hostiles, you've got the green light to take them out."

SASA—snatch and side-along—was standard operation procedure for a rescue operation like this one, though one had to be careful about sleeper agents. I always use a two-step extraction when I do a rescue: First, the runner team takes the prisoners via side-along Apparition to a preset, secure site within the wards, called the "Bounce Point" or "Bounce" for short, which allows one-way transit to the spot if you set it up beforehand. A Portkey from Bounce allows passage through the Portkey ward. We learned the hard way that you need a good exit strategy so you don't cage yourself in if things get stuffed up. Even Tom's less-gifted minions managed to get lucky on occasion.

Travers nodded assent and stepped back with his team.

I turned to two of the remaining teams. "King, Tonks."

"Aye, Captain," Tonks chirped, stepping forward and snapping a salute. Beside her, Shacklebolt rolled his eyes.

"Game faces, people. Alpha and Bravo will move in from the northwest on my signal. Heavy property damage is advised—don't spare the china." A bit of weak laughter followed. "After the initial assault, Tonks, your squad will leave Bravo to hold the bounce, then storm the place. Watch that you don't fuck Charlie on your way in." She sniffed at the double entendre—her rows with her Weasley ex were legendary among the Order. "Walls are steel, magically reinforced stone, standard stuff. Some offensive wards, but nothing fancy that we know of. You'll have company, both of the wizarding kind and animations. Swamp Things should be the only defenders of concern. You'll need heavy cutters so they don't regenerate. They're animations, so Killing Curses won't work." I ignored the looks I was getting at how I knew this. "You're to take out any hostiles you find, but the first pint's on me if you can leave at least one alive enough to question." I smiled wickedly. Everybody there knew that by "question," I meant what would come to be known colloquially as "enhanced interrogation techniques."

"Um, gov, what's your signal?" Tonks asked, uncharacteristically serious.

"I'll come to that in a moment. Brisbane."

A female Auror with heavy jowls and mousey hair streaked with grey limped forward and nodded. She was one of Alastor's protegés, tough as Ironbelly in a fight. This was our first time working together this time around.

"You and Delta will cover me. I'll be bringing down the wards."

"What!" several of the Aurors asked predictably.

Brisbane's amused rumbling caught my attention. "Kiddo, think you migh' be in a bit over your head? I've seen the intel. Class B phase-reinforcing Andromachean. High class stuff. "

I ignored her slight—she had fifty years of experience on me in this timeline, after all.

Their confusion was justified. Standard procedure called for a sapper crew to peel them back in a controlled, "Ministry approved," i.e. slow, fashion, usually taking the better part of an hour. This is dangerous, both for the crew and the Aurors, who'd have to provide cover in a hostile environment. And problematic too, since it gave the Death Eaters a chance to counterattack or Apparate away either with or without their prisoners. It was the "without" that was of the most concern, since they rarely were left alive. We lost Luna that way last time and, seeing as how she was being shown the tender mercies of Alecto and whoever else the depraved hag had with her, I didn't mind abusing the carte blanche Scrimjob had agreed upon.

I'd found the solution a year too late last time. Over cold Tsingtaos in Hong Kong, a friend of mine, a Chinese Auror by the name of Jimmy Wu, clued me in on an approach of dodgy legality, though my fame helped grease things. Training to use them in the last timeline had taken the better part of eleven months and I had to sell off Number 12 to raise the cash, but it was worth every Knut. Fortunately, as I brought back my memories, I could spare myself the training part. I'd done the Apparitions an hour before to the seedy basement shop just off the Bund in Shanghai. After several minutes of ineffective haggling, which all but wiped out the Strike Force expense account, I walked out in possession of a lacquered wooden box containing a pair of specialty foci.

I winked at Tonks, who stuck her tongue out at me, and placed the box on the table. Whispering a keyword, I waved a hand over the top and it creaked open. Inside were two pairs of discs carved from white jade, the smaller pair as thick as my thumb and the diameter of my palm. Two circles of dark jade were inset in their centers, each of which was carved with hanji characters. The left had the words for "friendly visit." The right had the characters for "bang bang," a bit of onomatopoeia—door knockers. I'd nicknamed the "bang" set, "Ginny."

The large set was basically the same, but each was the diameter of saucepan.

"Harry, what do those characters stand for?" Molly asked, looking through my eyes at the larger set.

"Uh, this one here is 'Fúshòu,' which in Mandarin means 'happy long life.'" It also meant "big tits"—the Chinese are nothing if not poetic—but she didn't need to know that. The other had the character "bàorǔ," or gigantic breasts; it was slightly less poetic.

"I named the set, 'Molly,'" I said to her in my head and from her reaction, I could feel that she was touched.

I slipped a fingerless dragonhide glove onto my left hand and placed the two Ginny cylinders together about a circular insert, then fastened the assembly within a mesh pouch that stuck out from my palm like a tuna tin.

Witches have this saying, "It's not the size of the wand, but how you use it." They're not entirely right in either sense. Size does matter, for wands in particular. The bigger the core, the more powerful the spells you can channel through it, but the harder it is to control and the faster you'll shoot your wad doing it.

What I'd picked up amounted to a set of extremely short, high-volume specialty wands. An Olivander wand might hold a single dragon heartstring. The old guy was good—among the best alive at his craft—but even he couldn't reliably work with more than a single focus. A couple of shops off Knockturn Alley dealt in disposable, dual- and tri-core wands, but they rarely lasted more than a few spells before misalignment blew your arm off.

In contrast, in the Orient a dozen or so centuries back, they worked out how to fuse multiples, but found it took a hell of a lot of mental and physical skill to use them effectively. Fortunately, I had both in spades. Learning to make them was a dead art—the only remaining wands of their type were priceless antiques and nobody alive knew how to use them. Only a few sketchy pensieve memories existed.

To make a long story short, Ginny's core held five heartstrings, all from the same Chinese Fireball, arranged in spiral pattern inside the insert. When I sent her against a ward set, she could overpower most anything, rather like my ex-wife when on a tear.

Molly? Sixty nine. With my hands inside her stocking… well, you wouldn't want to get in our way.

Using the Oriental wands essentially amounted to a specialized martial art, one heavy on shifting around one's Chi—magic to us—and light on the other mystical crap. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't do much with them besides brutalize wards and launch a few high-powered offensive spells, but it was well worth it.

I smirked at the incredulous Aurors. "I'm just going to knock nicely and see if they'll lower their wards for us. Tonks, your signal will be the wards coming down. I doubt it'll be quiet. Teams, get ready. We leave in five."

I closed the box and banished it back to my office.

"This time will be different," I vowed.

Molly heard me. "Harry?"

"Luna's in there. We lost her before and I swore I wouldn't let it happen again."

I felt an involuntary shudder as Molly gasped and both Tom and Tommi noticed, coming to the fore.

"Potter, tell me you're not risking yourself for that abomination."

I couldn't help but chuckle at how the last time we met, Luna had greeted us with, "Hi Harry. Hi Tommi. Hi other Tommi. Hi Molly. Hi Ginny," then skipped away, humming to herself.

"She's a friend," I said.

"A dangerous one," Tom said, retreating in my head. "Come, Tom," he barked.

"It's Tommi, Tommy," Tommi whined, earning him the mental equivalent of a cuff to the head.

* * *

"Excellent work, Bravo Company," I said, getting the last of the report from the boots on the ground.

"Harry, I'm so proud of you," Molly said. "You sound so professional."

"Well, I've been doing it for almost twenty years. I should be pretty good at it by now. Things are going to get dicey from here on, Molly, so you might want to tune back into Gin."

"Mom!" Ginny shouted, overhearing me. "Now is _not_ a good time."

"Ginny?" she asked and I couldn't help catching a glimpse and seeing that she was involved in yet another, mostly one-sided "goodbye snog" with Colin, who somehow had made it to the Burrow and whose hands had somehow found themselves beneath her clothing.

"Ginny! You're too young to let a boy open your treasure chest!" Molly yelled. "And where is Hermione? I thought she was supposed to be chaperone!"

"Right, about that..." Ginny said. Hermione's moans could be heard from the next room.

A scream was heard, this time on my end--Luna. I nodded to Brisbane and raised my hand with Ginny's tuna tin.

"Knock, knock," I whispered and moved through a brisk kata as I drew my magic up. The hairs on my arm stood on end as raw power sloshed into my limb. I exhaled most of my breath, then pushed my hand forward, palm extended, and _pressed_ my magic through the stubby wand.

A brilliant, meter-wide bolt of hot pink exploded from my hand and slammed into the hemispherical outer-ward, shattering it instantly and blasting through to the inner ward. The smaller dome lit up in rivulets of white lightning, a network of glowing veins that crackled and hummed. After several seconds, a loud whistle broke the night air and the magical wall turned blue as the knocker spell was primed. I hefted a gout of purple-hued magic into the array, which shattered it in a deafening thunderclap. Delta squad and I were blown onto our backs from the shockwave.

I sat up a moment later, feeling like I'd given birth to a St. Bernard.

"Hell of a signal, Cap'n," Tonks mused over the comm.

"Go kill bad guys," I said, coughing.

Brisbane helped me up with a smug smile. She, of course, didn't get knocked on her arse. Tough, buff, and gruff. I wondered again why she and Moody never hooked up.

* * *

Glurp.

Squee.

Voom.

A Peatbeast, one of the thousands of animated, tarry humanoids guarding the keep, lit up in a blaze of white sparks and Fiendfyre. I'd abandoned the cutters for fire—the things belch up flammable swamp gas and besides, as Phoenix Lord, I'd gotten frighteningly good at the charm. I could even shoot a single fire sprite as a projectile if I wanted to conserve my strength. This was a good thing—I was way past tapped out.

This whole operation had been pretty much bollocksed from the start.

Glurp.

Squee.

Voom.

Another Peatbeast burned. Supposedly, as with the Patronus charm, Fiendfyre conjurations are supposed to have a metaphorical connection to the caster.

Mine's a lemming, hence the "Squee." That I only found this slightly disturbing was itself disturbing.

You don't disrespect the lemming.

I hurdled a fallen tree and twisted my ankle on the way down. Stumbling to my feet, I cast a numbing charm and tried to keep moving—Tonks's squad was getting hammered pretty hard. I heard a woman's screams ahead. They turned to gurgles and I was vaguely aware of Ginny gagging in the back of my head.

"Ophelia!" Tonks half-shouted, half-wailed over the com as the two of us entered a clearing at the same time. The Auror was flushed and I could tell she was on the verge of breaking down. I felt for her—it was her first command and she'd lost another teammate—but none of us had time for handholding.

"Tonks, report!" I shouted, but before she could answer, a brown scythe of energy flared behind her. I dodged, pulling the pink-haired Auror down on top of me, the curse narrowly missing us both. She landed with her knee in my groin, of course. Wincing, I hurled a slashing curse back at a Death Eater, the best I could manage lying flat on my back with one of my squad leaders sprawled atop me. My curse connected—the top half of the man slid backward, while the bottom half toppled forward.

"Heya, sexy," she said, biting her lip. "You bring me anything? Like maybe some reinforcements?" She rolled off of me and we both staggered to our feet.

"Nah, we're boxed in good. Brisbane's doing all she can to hold it together a click to the south. King has our flank. For now, anyway."

"Harry, the wards are too well protected" she said, worried. Then she straightened, her eyes focusing on something behind me.

Glurp.

Before I could turn around, a flurry of blue balls of flame left her wand and struck a Peatbeast behind, turning it into a pyre the color of her hair on Thursdays.

"Ginny, what's wrong? You don't like the taste?" I heard in the background, but ignored it.

Tonks was wearing down fast, I could tell. So was what remained of her team, judging from what I was hearing over the com.

"Shit." I said, eloquently. Bounce was gone, stormed just after the prisoner extraction, and what remained of King's team was holding our flank. Unfortunately, we were stuck—at least seven hundred of the nastiest creatures I'd fought in this world or the last stood between us and the key to the wards. Luna had been bait for a trap.

"I spy with my little eye something tiny and pink..." Tommi chirped. "A wee, wee pee-pee!"

Glump.

Squee, squee, squee.

VOOM.

Okay, I didn't need that image. Another shambling Peatbeast went down as three exceptionally feral, flaming lemmings ripped it to pieces. My spell might have been a little overcharged.

"Just what's going on here, young lady?!" Molly shouted, scandalized. "And just where is your blouse?"

"Molly!" I shouted back. "No yelling in my ear, please."

I heard a wet "crunch" as the lifeless body of one of Tonks's team members was mangled. I could have lived without seeing the creature scoop out a handful of brains and pop them into its maw.

Ginny must have caught a glimpse too—she vomited onto Colin's lap.

"I guess not," he said.

The beast turned toward me. "Glump?" it asked.

Squee, Squee, Squee, I replied.

VOOM. I won the debate. Fiendfyre erputed and mercifully consumed creature and prey.

Brisbane's voice punched through the crackling of the flames, "Potter, Delta can't hold. We're going to have to try to make a break for it if you can't get here and I don't like our chances."

I resisted the urge to curse again. I'd pulled the plug on our Apparition and Portkey blockers once Bounce fell and it was obvious we had walked into a trap. Only then did we learn that a new set of wards had been laced over ours, ones that stubbornly resisted anything we threw at them from within, Ginny tuna nontwithstanding. King ran a trace and found they were tied to the keep's wardstone, guarded by the worst of what we were facing.

A feeling of calm washed over me. I realized what I had to do.

"King, fall back, cover Delta," I said quietly. "Tonks, get your squad to Brisbane ASAP. Brisbane, get a perimeter up and get every wand you have guarding it. You'll know my signal."

I slammed a double Ptolemy, fighting off the urge to cough up a kidney, and gathered what little strength remained. It wasn't a lot. I just hoped it was enough.

I had just one last thing to take care of. "Molly, get into Ginny's head, please. You don't want to be caught over on this side."

"Harry?" Molly said in a small voice. She must have felt my feelings over the bond and knew what I was about to do.

"Harry!" Ginny shouted.

"I love you both," I said. There was an awkward silence in my head.

In the distance, Tonks saluted me with her wand. We shared a look before I nodded to her and turned. I swept my own wand in a wide arc, unleashing an utterly massive fury of Fiendfyre, the largest I'd ever made. With a thousand shrieks, the ground in front of me was consumed by the flaming plague, leaving nothing but blackened ash and faintly glowing embers.

I'd put about everything I had into making them big and hungry, not tame.

"Bloody fucking..." someone said over the com, not bothering to finish, as I hobbled behind the firestorm. It seemed a poetic signature to my life.

* * *

I did better than I thought I would, unleashing Hell on Earth and charring half the keep into scorched stone, but my spell extinguished just as I reached the wardstone. Desperate, I screamed the incantation for more fire—more _anything_—but not a single spark came out of my wand. I face-faulted onto the stone as unworldly weariness overtook me. I'd wrung everything from myself.

"Get up, Potter. You'll die," Tom said, radiating concern.

Glump. Glump.

"Can't, Tom. I have nothing left."

"I do," Tom said quietly. "Take my power, Potter. Seize it. Use it."

"I can't. If I weaken your prison, you'll steal my body."

Glump. Glump. Glump. I was surrounded and Peatbeasts were closing fast.

"And your Strike Force? The Weasley matron? Are you willing to sacrifice them both for your stubbornness?" he asked.

"If that's what it takes to keep you from taking over the world again, yes." One of the beasts leaned over me. It smelled of creamed egg farts.

"Damn and blast, Potter, I swear on my magic that I won't attempt to take over your body! Now take it! Use my power and save us both!"

I saw in my mind a globe of malevolent red come near and, to my eternal shame, I reached for it. I felt Tom's presence pour into me and mine into him. A jolt of electricity rushed through me and I found myself standing, a leer on my face, as I slashed my assailants into tarry smears, my spells leaving my wand without effort. Drunk on his power, I remembered my mission. Cackling, I sheathed my wand and raised my Ginny tuna tin, turning toward the wardstone, the magically reinforced slab of ensorcelled marble that had taunted me so.

"_Confringo_," I whispered, and I was a god, my fist, a thunderbolt smiting the world into dust.

I was high above the crater that was once a keep, riding a magical shockwave into the heavens.

I was falling into oblivion, my body broken and dying.

And then I heard Tom's voice call out, "Fawkes!"


	7. The Fury of Fawkeszilla

Here's the ending I promised (and a couple bonus scenes, one contributed by SomeGuyFawkes). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 7: The Fury of Fawkeszilla

* * *

Fawkes flashed us to HQ and dropped me onto Brisbane with my face planted squarely in her crotch. It seemed a fitting end to the mission.

I spent about three weeks in the infirmary, sedated for most of that time. Jenkins, forgetting how I'd saved his worthless arse, was kind enough to give Rita an exclusive and the press had a field day with a series of exposés detailing my apparent "instability and inability to lead." These words would be repeated when Scrimjob stopped by for a friendly chat about all manner of things-political liabilities, being a "team player", how "sadly, I accept your resignation" before I even gave it, and other such rot. Laid up as I was, and with my magic tainted from Tom's transfusion-something else that had been "accidentally" leaked to the press... Let's just say that Gellert's reputation may have been more solid than mine by the time they were finished.

Tonks visited during one of my lucid moments. I could see by her eyes that she wasn't sleeping. They had a hauntedness that couldn't be Metamorphed away, a look I knew well, having worn it myself for the better part of a decade. I helped her as much as I could, reminding her how time and perhaps a casual lover would help with the pain. She seemed a little better at the end and even managed a saucy wink on the way out the door. She'd get by. She's a tough bird.

Tom and Tommi were silent in my head and I found that I couldn't sense them at all. I reckoned that whatever happened to our magic was affecting them still. I heard occasional mumblings from Molly and Gin over the Bond, but they were muffled, as if speaking through a pillow. Since I hadn't recovered enough magic to lift a feather, I figured that was the cause of it.

Toward the end of my stay, Gin finally visited, though it was evident that her doing so was Molly's idea. Her eyes were red and puffy and she had a pensive look before she pounded on my chest, apparently less than pleased at my having put them through something so traumatic. Then she embraced me and begged for forgiveness.

There wasn't anything to forgive, really, and I told her so. She slapped me and yelled some more. Apparently, I'm insensitive.

Molly took over her body and scolded me for not commenting on how courageous and difficult it was for Ginny to admit her mistake and that the least I could do would be to appreciate what she was doing on my behalf. I nodded, wanting the whole thing to just go away. Perhaps it was the magical exhaustion, which tinctures the world in muted greys, but Britain didn't seem to hold much interest for me anymore.

* * *

"Blood traitor Master is leaving poor Kreacher?" my elf whimpered, his ears drooping more than usual, as he vanished the Chinese takeaway I'd picked up on my way home. I'd shared my meal with him-Kreacher, as I'd discovered, had a thing for fried dumplings. Besides, his acerbic wit beat eating alone.

"Yeah, tomorrow. Dunno when I'm coming back." I continued packing. I'd be traveling light-sword, armor, wand, a few Galleons, a couple changes of Muggle clothes, my specialty wands, a box of condoms. One can always hope, right?

"But who will prepare Master's bed?" he asked again.

"There's Galleons in the vault. I order you to treat yourself to Chinese Takeaway while I'm gone at least once a week."

"Master is the greatest!" he gushed and hugged my leg. I shook him off, hoping he wasn't humping it, and popped the cork on the last of my potions. It was a potent sedative that would knock me out for twelve hours. Holding my nose, I downed the vial, which stank of spoiled shellfish, and chased the vomitous taste with a piece of Molly's homemade fudge given to me that morning by a teary Ginny.

I felt a warmth in my chest and a wistful nostalgia I'd not experienced in a long time, not since my sixth year the first time around. As I drifted to sleep, my face settled into a smile. I sent a hug over the Bond and felt an affectionate tug in reply.

* * *

"Ginny!" Molly said in a harsh whisper, interrupting my slumber. Morning sunlight shone into my room in Number 4 and I felt groggy. I wondered whether the twins had slipped something into the fudge that may have addled my head.

Then I caught some movement under the bed sheet and noticed what my right hand was doing.

"Just what are you up to, young lady?" Molly asked.

"Um, nothing?" Ginny said.

"I find that hard to believe. I thought we had discussed this. You need to take things slowly or you'll confuse the poor boy. Using his hand to tug on his celery stalk is hardly moving slowly!"

"I know, Mum, but I don't care about my reputation. I- I only want him to feel good," she said in a small voice. "I love him. You didn't see him like I did that night-the way he fought, it was just like when he rescued me from Tommi. He was so brave… And what he said at the end- Mum, he really loves us. Loves _me_, even though I've been a tiny bit bitchy to him."

Ginny had a gift for understatement.

Molly sighed. "Well, if you're going to do it, do it like this." Molly seized control of my other hand and began her own ministrations, which were at once more gentle and yet forceful in just the right way. Despite the extreme awkwardness and the lingering potions in my system, I found release quickly, far sooner than I usually managed on my own. I sent a wave of appreciation back over the Bond. I didn't know what it was, but I felt more alive than I had since I came back.

"Wow, Molly," I said, feeling equal parts sated and squicked. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Harry, dear, I've been married for longer than you've been alive. If I hadn't learned a few things, dear Arthur would have had to put more children through Hogwarts." She paused to wipe my left hand on the bed while Ginny smeared the stickiness around with the right and played with it. I could feel Molly rolling her eyes at her daughter's antics. "Besides, Harry dear, I've been living in your head for weeks. You masturbate more than anyone else I know."

There was a pregnant pause. Agrippa's arse-could this get more awkward?

"Except for Charlie, of course," Ginny and Molly said in unison.

Apparently so.

"Poor boy," Molly said. "Even cleaning charms couldn't take the spots off his sheets."

"Or the windows," Ginny said. "My room was underneath his and I used to hear the floor creak every time that Muggle girl walked along the lane by the Burrow."

"Oh dear. Remember the spots on the roof of the Anglia?"

"Inside or outside?" Ginny asked, disgusted. "The bathroom was the worst, though. I always had to smell the air before walking in, just in case he'd painted the floor. Trust me, you do _not_ want to step in that in the dark with bare feet."

"The broom shed was another of his favorites," Molly said, then added thoughtfully, "but at least it kept the Garden Gnomes away."

"And the underside of the kitchen table."

"What?" Molly asked. "When was this?"

"After Yule pudding a couple years ago, while the rest of the family were in the sitting room drinking cider."

"Oh my, I should have known that was Charlie. I think I blamed Ronnie for that mess."

Ginny giggled.

I looked for a safer topic to discuss. "Um, Molly, what exactly were in your brownies?"

"Did you like them? Since you were leaving, dear, I put, well, a little something special in them to remember us by. It's from an old Prewett family recipe."

"What was it?" I asked, having a nagging suspicion.

"Vanilla bean," she said quickly, distracting me as Ginny used my hand to cram another, large piece of fudge into my mouth. As it melted over my tongue, I relaxed and in my mind, I embraced my two loves. Then I felt their passion rise. Just what was in the candy?

"Ginny, dear," Molly said, a little breathless, "did you wash that hand? If you mix the potion with that, it'll turn into an aphrod..."

"Potion?" I asked.

"Er, I meant vanilla."

"Right."

Ginny growled playfully and the Bond felt hot with lust. She said huskily, "Um Mum, can you stay here with Harry? There's, um, _this thing_ I want to do back in my body."

"Okay, Ginny dear, she purred, and I felt Molly draw near in my mind.

Partial clarity returned, however, as Ginny was forcibly repelled by the Bond and hurled back into my head. She tried twice more, but was unable to cross over. Someone was keeping them out and I had a good idea who.

"Oh, fuck," Molly said, echoing all of our thoughts.

* * *

And this brings me back to my story. As I was saying, I ghost to the Burrow. My Occlumency barriers at maximum, I've a grasp, however tenuous, on the matter at hand.

Then I see her.

Before me is a sun goddess in a millieu of flame. Nude, lissome, proud, her shoulders back, her legs parted wide, she's an avatar of deadly beauty. Her lips part slightly and red hair, glittering golden in reflected firelight, rustles in the hot wind. She folds her arms beneath her breasts and clutches her wand in an overhand grip, the fashion of a half-century past. Its tip smolders, guilty wisps that betray her arson, and her skin is the pink of Summer's kiss, yet sooted by smoke's corruption.

"Harry, dear, please stop staring at my daughter's bum," Molly mutters as a hand clasps over my eyes.

"Sorry, Molly," I say.

"Ginny's a nice girl and you shouldn't be seeing her like this before you're married. She'll get a reputation..." I can tell that her heart isn't in her scolding. One of my companions wails loudly and I search out our Bond to share her feelings of loss. Sorrow rips at my soul.

I start to peel the fingers from my face as her daughter's nudity elicits the obvious reaction-again, I'm reminded how strong teen-aged hormones can be.

"Harry!" Molly exclaims, scandalized. That I'm only dressed in boxers doesn't conceal matters.

"Sorry."

"Potter!" the creature before me hisses as she turns to face me. A lesser man, one who hadn't defeated Voldemort several times, may have quailed at her malevolent stare.

"Busy morning, I see." I nod toward the roaring inferno, my wand trained on her.

"Indeed. Now I shall slay you and rebuild what you have stolen from me." I lament my cursed destiny, to be struck always with enemies lacking in conversation skills and, well, style.

"Are you alone in there?" I ask, stalling for time. I haven't a clue how I'm going to do this without hurting Ginny.

Ginny's features soften and her irises return to the warm, chocolate brown that stirs me heart. "I'm here too, Harry."

She smiles, her blush coloring more than just her face, and winks at me as Molly tuts. Across our Bond, I feel Ginny's embrace and a whisper in my mind pleads for me to defeat the usurper, no matter what the cost. I'm unsure I can obey.

Before I can subdue her, the malevolent spirit returns with a snarl and spits the incantation for a Killing Curse. A sputtering green bolt arcs toward me. I dodge, my Auror reflexes coming to the fore, and snap off a series of powerful stunners, fiery red bolts that crackle in the air. She slaps the first few away, but the fourth shatters her shield, forcing her to leap aside to avoid the next. The sudden motion gives me a fascinating practical lesson in inertia as Ginny whimpers in my mind over the pain she'll be feeling tomorrow.

Did I mention that I tend to get distracted by her brown eyes?

* * *

A buzzing chevron of black jets from her wand and leaves a smoky trail in the air as it flies toward me. With a whisper, a silver Mage's shield materializes about my left arm and rings like a gong as my spell deflects the curse to the ground. Thick chunks of sod are thrown up into the air and my arm twinges from the blow.

I conjure and animate a pair of chains that snake toward her. She dodges one, but the other traps her leg, causing her to stumble forward. She transfigures it into smoke and twists her shoulders to avoid the snap-bludgeoners, sharp monosyllabic battering hexes that I've launched toward her. Her lightning-fast _Cruciatus_ sends me to the ground, which she morphs into a smoking pool of acid.

I Apparate upside-down to the space directly above her and catch her upper torso with a joint-locking hex before she can look upward. As she dispels the hex, I just manage to transfigure the ground beneath me into a pool of water before I crash headfirst into the dirt. The water cushions my fall and washes the residual acid from my body, although the impact with the bottom expels the air from my lungs.

Suddenly, the top half-meter of the pool freezes solid and I feel the buzzing sensation of a strong anti-Apparition ward going up. Spots form over my eyes as my inability to breathe starts to turn desperate. A Bubblehead charm is useless underwater without air to fill the bubble and I don't trust my ability to silently transfigure water into air. My _Reducto_ bounces off the ice barrier and the water about me continues to freeze, turning slushy and making movement difficult in the confined space.

In a spark of inspiration, I remove my boxers and attempt to turn them into a Portkey, but the spell fails to take hold. Tom has apparently added wards against that as well.

The world turns black around the edges and I begin to lose consciousness, despite Ginny's and Molly's screaming at me to stay awake. Then, I find myself lying on my back on the grass taking deep, greedy breaths.

"Master is lost without his Kreacher," my savior says.

Ginnymort screams upon seeing my escape. I leap to my feet, nude now, and train my wand on her. A Killing Curse scores the earth where I had lain.

"Kreacher, go reward yourself a double order of dumplings."

"Yes, Master!" He says and pops out of the way of a second Killing Curse.

My opponent begins the incantation for a third, but stops as her eyes land on my manhood. Her irises turn from red to brown and she licks her lips, her cheeks flushing.

I feel my left hand reach below my waist, though it stops when Molly tuts loudly.

"Mo-om," Ginny says, stretching the word into multiple syllables. "If we can distract Tommi, we might be able to take back my body."

"Oh, well, in that case…" Molly grasps firmly and thus begins one of the most surreal duels I've ever fought. Tom and I trade deadly curses with abandon. Nude, we're all feeling the effects of Molly's amplified love potion. Our curses, powered by the strong emotions, crackle from our wands and leave our bodies wet from exertion. Tom's left hand, controlled by Tommi, has begun to frantically touch Ginny's erogenous zones. My own left, controlled by Molly and Ginny, does the same for me. We find ourselves caught up in an incoherent crescendo of fury and passion, hate and want. The line where one ends and the other begins blurs.

Suddenly, it becomes too much for one of us and Tommi pushes Tom aside, seizing control of Ginny's body.

"Take me! Oh, Merlin, take me now!" she shouts through flushed, swollen lips. It takes every ounce of control I possess to not comply. Ginny and Molly rush across, shattering Tom's lock on the Bond and Tommi and Tom are pushed into my head. I find, to my horror, that I no longer have dominion over my mind as my control begins to slip in the face of the united front of an enraged Tom and an equally enraged and sexually frustrated Tommi.

"Help!" I shout as I seek respite, pushing them out of my head and into the Bond.

"We can't-if we let them in, we won't have the strength to push them out again!" Ginny shouts back. "Sorry, Harry, but we can't take that chance." She stuns herself to prevent them from retaking her body.

The Toms claw back into my head and I fight for control in a battle more fierce than any I've ever had, yet I find myself on the brink of losing control. The solution before me is clear, if utterly cruel. My hand clenches tightly about my wand and I bring it to my temple. Sparks sputter from its tip and tickle my skin. "_Avada_…" I say with a hoarse voice and a whisper of Phoenix song ghosts into my head as the spell charges.

Then, an idea forms and I send a call out across the dimensions.

/FAWKES!/

The bird arrives with a squawk of surprise and annoyance. Before he can protest, I push Tom and Tommi through the Phoenix Bond and cram them into my familiar's head. His angry chattering stills, leaving him hovering in the air.

Then his black, beady eyes slowly turn crimson.

Oh, shit.

* * *

"Mooof."

It sounds a little like "move" and I do, diving out of the growing shadow. A half-second later, a cow falls where I was standing, having been dropped from a height by an angry Voldephoenix. I see another shadow and roll sideways, ending up on my back. Another cow plummets to the earth beside me.

The sky darkens again and I raise my wand, pointing skyward and screaming "_Arresto Momentum_!" A light green Ford Anglia, Arthur's replacement for the auto Ron and I wrecked, stops inches from my face. I scoot out from beneath it just as I hear a horrible crash-Fawkes had dropped a lorry onto the poor Anglia, crushing it flat.

I feel a strange sense of foreboding and dart sideways as a sink shatters onto the ground. Then, I jump backward just as a statue of a giant ass plummets to the earth. I exhale in relief and it rolls over, pinning me beneath. I hear a flash of flame above and look up to see something very big falling onto me.

I banish the statue upward and see it punch a hole through the hull and foredeck of a fishing trawler that's falling fast. I scramble on hands and knees to get out of the way. I make it, barely.

Then the world turns brown as a cartload of manure is upset onto my head, burying me beneath.

I crawl out and see the Phoenix hovering above and am surprised to see that the creature's body has changed from before. It's larger now, more angular and aggressive looking, and armored in shiny, metallic feathers that glitter in the sunlight. Luckily, Fawkes seems to ignore me as I climb out of the sticky mess. Then, the Phoenix lets out a loud, wet fart and I'm forced to dive back in to avoid being burned to a crisp in the ensuing inferno.

Okay, that's just mean.

My naked body bursts from the heap as if it's a really shitty cake and I send a Killing Curse back at the bird. The spell strikes true and Fawkes plummets from the sky, slamming the ground with a thud. A solitary, blackened feather floats down behind it. To my chagrin, the Phoenix stirs, shaking its head and propping itself up. It narrows its eyes and I get the feeling that the stakes have just been raised.

Fawkes spreads its wings and begins to grow larger and larger. It continues growing until it has become as tall as a fifty-floor building. It squawks, a sound more like a rumbling roar than a birdcall, and its red eyes begin to glow. Two brilliant beams of light shoot out of them, scoring a deep furrow in the ground in front of me.

I run like Hell.

* * *

Fawkes's fury, no doubt fueled by that of his tenants, shows no sign of abating and I know I can't keep this up. Not much remains from our battle that hasn't been smashed or melted by the colossal bird. Worse, Tom's Apparation and Portkey wards are still in place and I doubt my Mage's shield could hold back those infernal laser beams.

A piece of the ship's hull, the last one large enough to offer much shelter, glows and begins to melt.

"Kreacher?" I say.

With a loud pop, he appears, his face covered in plum sauce. He's licking his fingers. "Master calls?"

Unfortunately, he's appeared out in the open and Fawkes notices. A red beam shines down and my House Elf ceases to be, replaced by a circle of charred earth.

I turn around to face the other way and call out, "Dobby?"

There's another loud pop and Dobby appears, his tennis-ball eyes wide at the sight of the gigantic Fawkeszilla beast stomping around outside.

"The Greatest and Bestest and Second-Most Craziest Wizard Ever Harry Potter Calls for his Dobby?"

"Second? Who's the first? No, wait, just take me to Number 12 Grimmauld Place!"

"Dobby is happy to help out the Great Harry Potter sir. Dobby is just telling Winky that…" The steel hull groans as Fawkes begins crushing it beneath its clawed foot.

"Do it now!"

Dobby does. We pop in front of the building and I sprint into the house. I take the steps three at a time, flying upward to the master bedroom room for the only thing I know that might work on whatever Fawkes has become. I always wondered why Dragons fear Phoenixes, but I don't any more. A loud thunderclap shatters the windows and I feel a sick feeling in my stomach. Fawkes has followed us.

I hurl open the door to my room and am knocked down as the building shudders violently-he's tearing it down in an effort to get to me. I find my footing and amble toward the closet, but the way is made difficult by the strong tremors under my feet. The room starts to list and I redouble my speed and reach the closet. A rafter snaps behind me and shatters the bed. Cracks run up the plastered walls and with a groan and a massive crash, the upstairs study appears in the master bedroom.

I snatch what I need along with Firebolt. A beam of red cleaves the house in two and I feel a moment of near-weightlessness as the building falls in upon itself. I Apparate away before I'm speared by a rafter.

* * *

I've chosen the location of our final showdown to be a desolate rock off the north coast of Scotland near a large and aggressive colony of Sirens. Muggles can't see this place. Magicals wouldn't want to.

I set down the lacquered box I'd retrieved from my house, the one with the special ward-breaking wands I'd picked up in China, and insert the dinner-plate-sized Molly-wands into the sheath. "Big tits" stretch the fabric tight. I put my hands inside the silk stocking. I know I'll only have one go at this and I have to make it good. Fate says it's time for the money shot.

I guide my broom upward with my legs and wait for Fawkes to arrive. I don't have to wait for long, though. A thunderclap announces the beast's arrival and salty wind howls in my ears. We stare at one another in silence for a long while. Then, his eyes glow as he charges up a freaky ray blast. I raise my hands, gather my strength, and _press_ my magic through the squat wand. _Avada Kedavra_ slides off my lips like a lover's name and a blinding, meter-wide blast of brilliant green jets from my wand. I put everything into the spell and pray it's enough.

The world erupts in a wash of white. My broom shatters and I fall.

* * *

My left eye is blind. My leg is broken. I'm bleeding from more places than I can count, but I have to see, I have to know that he's gone for good this time. It takes the better part of an hour, but eventually I limp down the kilometer-wide crater above where Fawkeszilla had exploded. In the center of the crater, in a smoking pool of hardened lava, is a tiny, fuzzy Phoenix chick that fumbles about. I pick it up and peer at it with my good eye.

One of its eyes is black and the other is red. On a whim, I try _Legilimency_ on the red eye.

"Hiya Harry," Tom and Tommi chorus in a sing-song voice.

"You guys- you survived?"

"Of course we did, big guy," they lisp in union. Whatever evil existed inside Tom, it seems to have been consumed in the inferno when I defeated Fawkes. My shoulders slump in relief as my task is over, finally. Tom, Tommi, and I chat for a while longer and say our goodbyes when Fawkes, annoyed, leaves a mess on my hand. Phoenix poop, even from tiny chicks, burns.

Watching the Phoneix flame away with the remains of Voldemort is at once comforting and disquieting. The evil blight on his soul is gone for good, though it's disconcerting to see that spending all those years in Ginny's head apparently had the same effect on one's masculinity as immolation in Phoenix fire.

I can't help but think that this may not bode well for my future.

* * *

This is the end of my story, for the most part. After healing and some shameless groveling, I get reinstated to the Auror Corps. On the bright side, I get to partner with Tonks, but we're Jenkins's subordinates now, always drawing the least desirable jobs. It just gives us motivation to find new and creative ways to make the man's life Hell, I guess.

I find, much to my amusement, that our little explosion causes an international incident, with Great Britain accused of having broken a moratorium on the testing of Muggle nuclear weapons. The lack of any fallout or radioactivity helps assuage things slightly, though the ambient magic throws off the scientists' instruments. In the end, after strategic use of some wide-area _Confundus_ charms, it's written off as some kind of paranormal anomaly-some weird combination of UFOs, Red Mercury, and acid trips sure to be the subject of Internet conspiracies for years to come. It does make things tense at the Ministry, however, and Scrimgeour is ousted after a successful vote of no confidence in the Wisengamot.

After a protracted period of wheedling with the new Minister, a corpulent Witch by the unfortunate name of Marjorie Murders-McMuffins, we finally gain access to the facility to send Molly's mind back into her body. With Hermione's reluctant help, we re-attach the Soul Bond between Ginny and me, though with all the complications, there's an unfortunate side effect: every so often, Molly and Ginny swap bodies with one another for a spell.

Ginny and I restart our relationship, much to the annoyance of the Weasley boys, but Molly breaks in her new voice by laying down the law. They leave us alone, though if we do get married someday, I suspect I'll probably have to ask Travers or Viktor to be my best man.

The situation with Ginny and Molly makes things a little awkward at times, but it could be worse. Working for us is that Molly and I share a special relationship. We understand one another on a level few ever attain and I know that I have my mother-in-law's deepest respect, if not her love.

Fin.

* * *

Epilogue:

After eight months of charms work, a hundred trips into Dumbledore's Pensieve, and a housewarming party to end all parties, the Burrow has been rebuilt exactly as it was before Tom destroyed it. The first night back, Arthur Weasley sits in his new home upon his new sofa, a Sunday Daily Prophet under his arm and a mug of hot cider in his hand. He smiles as he hears Molly humming in the kitchen.

"Oh God, Harry, just like that. Don't stop…" He looks up as the unmistakable sound of lovemaking can be heard upstairs.

Molly stomps into the room, brandishing a rolling pin. "That _tramp_! How _dare_ she!"

Arthur puts his hand on his wife's arm and gives her a kind smile. "Now, now, Mollywobbles, Harry's a good lad. Let's let them have their fun, just this once."

Molly huffs. "Dad? I'm Ginny tonight?"

* * *

Omake: (Written by SomeGuyFawkes)

"Be careful what you wish for," Tom thought as he watched his home star flare out for the last time. He'd wanted to defy death, and he had-after a fashion. True, the greater part of his soul had perished on that island, but his final Horcrux had remained in Potter. When his nemesis finally passed on, the liberated soul fragment had sought him out and his mind was made whole again.

But he was trapped inside a thrice-damned demon of chaos, a Phoenix. And the damned thing was always getting snared by doddering fools with more power than sense-who had preachy dispositions.

For 4 billion years, BILLION, he'd suffer as his host was drawn to these menaces, as if by magic, and Tom would have to endure several decades of the same old torture with a new face... or, er, tentacle. He never could convince the flaming turkey to kill them, either.

Tom knew he was in Hell. The dying star had swallowed the very Earth, yet he still had no release, no sweet blissful death. Worse, he could already feel a "mind"-full of complicated schemes and "good" intentions calling across the cold endless void.

* * *

_Author's Note and Acknowledgments__: I'm grateful to the folks at Alpha Fight Club for all their help on this chapter and on the story. I'd also like to acknowledge valuable feedback I received from those at Darklordpotter, where this story was posted in Work By Author. I'd like to call out a few for being particularly helpful and whose comments made this twisted tale come alive: Nukular Winter, BajaB, SomeGuyFawkes, darklordmike, Scaryisntit, Voice of the Nephilim, IP82, japanese_jew, Garret PI, Traveller, Taure, Heather Sinclair, respitechristopher. I was moved to write this piece after some lengthy message exchanges with nonjon, who encouraged me to try something somewhat less bleak and angsty than _Dagger and Rose_. If he ever reads this, I hope he isn't too disappointed. _

_As a final note, if you've enjoyed my work and you're interested in reading some original fiction penned by several of the biggest names in the fandom (jbern, Rorschach's Blot, Joe6991, Shezza, Clell, WhyDoYouNeedToKnow, Heather Sinclair, and others) and me-don't ask how I found myself in such august company-please see jbern's author page on this site for information on an anthology we've put together and that will be available in a few weeks. _


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